Maybe Baby (I'll See You On New Year's Day)
by SomewhereApart
Summary: For OQ Advent 2017. Recently-divorced and returning home for the holidays, Regina Mills is ready to sink into the comforts of the familiar small town she grew up in. While she's there, she finds herself drawn to an old friend.
1. December 21

Regina Mills doesn't always enjoy _being_ home for Christmas, but she does enjoy _going_ home.

She enjoys the way the December light bounces off of the snow-coated pines, the way their trunks stand out starkly in the woods that cradle the road as she drives north. She even enjoys the sight of the ocean, choppy and grey and unwelcoming as it is.

It's familiar. Like an old, worn blanket – not necessarily nice to look at all of the time, but comforting nonetheless.

And this year… This year, she's aching for familiar.

This year, it's well after dark as she crosses the town line, "Christmas, Baby Please Come Home" blaring from her car stereo in an attempt to keep her awake and alert on the darkened back roads. The moon filtering down through the thick woods makes the snow-covered ground glow blue, and Regina feels a sort of settled rightness in her middle at the feeling of being _home_.

 _Home_ isn't a feeling she's been able to indulge in lately, and imperfect though this home may be, it's better than the one she'd left to come here.

It's quiet downtown, the chilly streets mostly buttoned up for the night, shop windows all festooned with bells and pine branches and SEASON'S GREETINGS!, fake snow climbing up from their corners and wrapped boxes arranged behind the darkened glass.

There are a few lights still on – the Rabbit Hole has music pumping out into the street, as usual, and Granny's is still open for late dinners and boasting vacancies.

For a half-second, she's tempted to pull off right there on Main Street and book herself a room. It might be more welcoming than her destination, and certainly less complicated – but it would no doubt feed the small town gossip mill and Mother would never let her live it down, so she keeps driving.

Just before Main Street ends, curving into Hatter and then Mifflin, she passes Storybrooke Camp and Sport (now boasting signs for ski rentals and ice fishing augers) and her heart skips a beat, her fingers tightening a little on the wheel.

Her wedding ring feels heavy on her left hand, a weighty lie that glitters for a second in the streetlights and makes her heart twist and sink.

She tears her gaze from what maybe should have been but never was, forces her mind from what was and maybe never should have been, and takes the turn carefully, mindful of the ice that slips ever so slightly under one of her tires.

It's nearly midnight when she pulls into the drive of 108 Mifflin, but the lights are still on in the looming white mansion, an ornate wreath decorating the front door as usual. That and the potted mini-pines lining the walk are the closest thing Mother has come to decorating for the holidays – no surprise there; she finds fairy lights garish and pedestrian, wouldn't be caught dead with window clings or light-up reindeer, or glowing plastic Santas.

Regina kills the motor in her Mercedes and shrugs her jacket on haphazardly, stepping out into a bitterly cold night. She liberates her Louis Vuitton travel bag from the passenger seat and shivers as she makes a quick trek between those little pines, one hand holding her coat closed as the other lifts to knock at the front door.

Cora answers in a neat pant-suit, her face still painted, not a hair out of place despite the late hour.

Regina is suddenly painfully aware of the splotch of coffee she'd spilled on her jeans somewhere near Kennebunk, and the distinct possibility that said coffee and the granola bar she'd scarfed down an hour ago had worn away her lipstick.

"Come in, dear, you're letting in the chill," Mother beckons, and Regina crosses the threshold, dutifully shutting out the winter night.

The outside of the Mayor's mansion may be sparingly decorated, but the inside is another story. The grand staircase is wound with boughs of holly and pine all the way up, and there's a large, glowing tree in the sitting room. The whole place smells vaguely of spice—no doubt from the trio of fat candles burning on the sitting room coffee table—and Regina knows that she can count on an ornate Nativity on the dining room credenza despite Mother's ambivalence toward religion in general, along with another small tree in Mother's home office. There will be company towels in the guest bath, company soaps, too, all season-appropriate.

The combined effect is supposed to make the place feel welcoming, but Regina remembers too many Christmases from her younger years spent being told not to muss the holly, not to encourage more needles to fall from the trees, not to play with the baby Jesus and the little drummer boy.

Even now, in her early forties, the display carries a forbidden air. A feeling of look-but-don't-touch.

It feels like a showroom more than a home, especially now that Daddy is gone.

And yet, she's glad to be here. Would rather be here than in D.C., in that too-empty loft, not enough furniture yet to fill it. She'd decorated it a few weeks ago – silly, considering she's spending the holiday _here_ and not _there_. But she hadn't been able to bear the empty countertops, the bare corners, the… new-ness of it all.

It shouldn't feel lonely, not to her. The divorce was her choice, and she tells herself night after night that she asked for this. For a place of her own, for an end to the exercise in boredom and endurance and strained silence that her marriage had become. She'd asked to be free, and she was.

She should be happy.

She's not happy.

Not even with her fragrant six-foot fir with its silver and gold ornaments, or the bowls of snow-crusted pine cones on the coffee table, the drape of silver bell garland over the mantle, or the sleek, white reindeer figurines perched behind it.

She should have gone with red and gold, she thinks, not silver. The silver just feels cold…

Speaking of cold, Mother tells her frostily, "Midnight is a bit late to arrive, don't you think, sweetheart?"

"I told you I would be getting in late," Regina reminds as she slips her coat from her shoulders again and unzips her boots. "I worked this morning, and it's a nine hour drive."

She shouldn't have mentioned the drive. All it accomplishes is making her mother huff, "I still don't see why you drove up from McLean instead of just flying. You could have chartered a car from Portland, and been here in time for dinner."

"I suppose I could have, Mother," Regina sighs, "But I wanted to drive. It gives me time to think."

"What on earth could you have to think about that takes nine hours?" Cora asks as they finally leave the foyer, and, oh, if only she knew.

 _Far too much_ is what Regina has to fill nine hours of thinking.

Still, it had been good – the long drive to herself, just Regina and her music, and then a conference call while she'd been snarled in some traffic around Philly, and a good chunk of a book on tape as she'd made her way past New York. There'd been a quick call with her lawyers to recap the divorce agreement she and Leo had signed, and when all the assets would be divided officially.

You know, business as usual for the beginnings of a Christmas holiday.

But Regina hasn't yet told her mother about the divorce – the ring weighing heavily on her finger is a testament to that – and she's not sure if she intends to break it to her at the beginning of this trip or the end. She can't imagine the news will be well-received.

So she holds onto it a little longer, dismissing, "There's always something to think about," as they head (unsurprisingly) for the den.

It's where Mother keeps her bar, and there will no doubt be a post-drive nightcap before Regina gets a chance to shower and sleep.

"I see Leo's not with you," Cora comments, predictably, as she reaches for a decanter of brandy.

Regina lies, and tells her, "He had work to do; he couldn't get away. But he sends his regards."

Cora nods slowly, pouring drinks both for herself and for Regina and bringing them over to the sofa Regina has settled dutifully onto. Only then does Mother say to her, "I'm sure he's getting lots of work done in St. Barts."

Regina freezes, her hand poised to grab the lowball but not quite grasping it yet.

So much for keeping her divorce a secret.

She feels very much like she had at seventeen, when she got caught necking with Daniel out at Lookout Point, despite Mother's repeated insistence she wasn't to waste her time with a boy so terribly _common_.

Busted. And small. And very much like she's failed to keep Mother's favor.

It doesn't help that Cora is looking down at her expectantly, but also with that hint of triumph behind her eyes. Like she's beaten Regina at her own game, and Regina supposes that, in a way, she has.

"I don't know why you felt the need to lie to me, dear," she says to her, and Regina finally grabs that brandy and takes a deep swallow as Mother sinks into the cushion beside her. "I'm your mother; and you're hardly the only person I know in your social circle, I was bound to find out."

It would be true, if their divorce had been at all public. But it hadn't been, it had been quiet, a low-key, mostly amicable parting of ways. Hell, most of their _friends_ don't even know yet. They'd agreed not to break the news until after the New Year. Which means Mother must have gotten it from one of the lawyers.

Regina is sure—absolutely _sure_ —it was Gold, that snake.

She should have known this would happen. Mother and Gold have known each other for decades, she just figured that attorney-client privilege might actually save her this once.

"I was planning on breaking the news this week – although preferably not the minute I stepped in the door," Regina tells her mother, trying not to fiddle with her glass despite the twisting nerves in her belly. "I wanted to tell you and Zelena in person, not over the phone. And as well-connected as you may be, the divorce hasn't been big news. We've kept it between us, for now. I thought it was a secret that would keep until the holiday."

She sees Mother's mouth pinch slightly at the mention of her other daughter, but she doesn't acknowledge the comment with more than a, "Well. What happened, then? You seemed like such a good match."

They didn't. They never had been.

Leo had been a mistake, a square peg she'd spent a decade of her life trying to fit into a round hole. He'd been good on paper – successful, driven, a mover and shaker in the D.C. political arena. And he'd afforded her the life Mother had always hoped she'd have. But the socialite life had never been _Regina's_ dream, and she'd always felt stifled in it.

"I didn't want to spend the rest of my life attending boring galas, on the arm of a boring man, and then going home and having, quite-frankly, mind-numbingly _boring_ sex—"

"Regina," Mother chides, as if she's somehow been scandalized by the idea of her daughter having sex with her husband. Or maybe it's just the honesty that has her so rattled.

"You asked, Mother," Regina reminds, taking another small sip of her drink. "I wasn't happy with Leo; I hadn't been happy in a long time. I'm not sure I ever was. I think…" She shouldn't say this, absolutely should not, but she hasn't had much to eat since well before dinner time, not much more than that granola bar, so the little bit of brandy she's had is already starting to go to her head. It makes her bold enough to admit, "I married him more for you than me. He made sense, he was a 'smart choice,' but he was never really _my_ choice. That life had never been the life I wanted. I thought it could be, but…"

She shakes her head, takes another sip and says, "I couldn't bear the thought of spending ten _more_ years just… surviving, and not really _living_. Much less another thirty, or forty. So I left him."

"You gave up," Cora says primly, and Regina's blood boils.

"I did _not_ 'give up,'" she defends, fingers tightening around her glass. "Unless you're talking about the years I gave up trying to make a doomed marriage work."

Cora lets out a little huff and takes a swallow of her own brandy, but thankfully doesn't argue. Regina can tell from the sour expression on her face just what Mother thinks of Regina's excuses, though – and that's what she'd no doubt call them, "excuses", if she wasn't showing a blessed amount of restraint.

Thank goodness for Christmas miracles.

Of course, Cora not answering leaves dead air between them, a heavy silence that Regina feels the need to fill.

"He didn't even fight me on it, Mother," she informs wearily, a headache starting to brew behind her eyes (she should have gone with water, not liquor). "We both knew it wasn't right anymore."

"Well, I suppose you're happy, then," Cora says with a tight little smile, and Regina scoffs a laugh.

How her mother manages to pack so much disappointment into so little expression Regina will never know, and, "No, I'm not happy. I'm… sad. Or…"

Regina takes a deep breath. These sorts of talks have never been easy with Mother; the more Regina tries to be honest about how she feels, the more judged she usually ends up feeling.

But she tries anyway, telling her, "I feel like a failure. And a fool. And I feel… old. And lonely. And… adrift." Cora narrows her eyes as Regina talks, but she's listening, so Regina keeps going. "I may not have been happy with Leo, but I knew what to expect. My life was boring, but comfortable. And now… I suppose I'm just not used to being alone anymore, or to having nothing on my calendar but my own social engagements. It's… an adjustment."

"You chose this," Cora reminds, as if Regina doesn't _know_ that. "But I'm sure if you wanted to change your mind—"

"I don't," Regina insists, shaking her head. "I don't want to go back to what I had. I just have to figure out what's next, that's all. But right now, all I want is a hot shower, and a warm bed."

And to not be talking about this with her mother.

"So do you think we could continue this in the morning?" Regina suggests, "Or later this week?"

"I think you should spend this week thinking about whether a _divorce_ is really a good cure for _boredom_ ," Cora tells her, and Regina's jaw clenches. As if she didn't spend plenty of time thinking this through before she finally threw in the towel. But then Mother concedes, giving her an out with, "But it's late, and we have a whole week to discuss your options, so yes, we can continue this in the morning."

Regina is too relieved to even protest the promise of more meddling.

Instead, she takes her bag and climbs the stairs, settling in to the guest room that was once her childhood bedroom.

She unpacks her toiletries and her pajamas, and then she stares at the rings on her left hand, the thick emerald-cut rock and the diamond band. She'd kept them on to keep up appearances with Mother, but the jig is up now

So Regina slips them off, unzipping her cosmetic bag and dropping them inside, never to be worn again.

It feels good. Right.

A bit heavy, but somehow… hopeful.

When she steps under the spray of the shower, it feels like she's washing away more than the nine hours she's spent behind the wheel.


	2. December 22

It wouldn't be accurate to say that Robin is _surprised_ to see Regina Mills two spots in front of him in line at Storybrooke Coffee Co., on the twenty-second of December. She hasn't come home for _every_ Christmas since he's known her, certainly not since she's been married—and in the four years since her father passed, Robin is certain she's only been home twice—but there had been a time when he could count on seeing her at the annual Winter Festival, or at Granny's New Year's Eve Bash.

So no, it's not entirely a surprise to shiver off the cold of a Maine morning and look up to see the unmistakeable back of her head, the recognizable shape of the Birkin bag slung over her arm, the familiar silhouette of her profile when she turns her head to point out something in the pastry case.

Robin's heart skips a beat, as always. It's done the same since the day Marian introduced him to Regina and Daniel nearly twenty years ago in that corner booth at Granny's. Her hair had been longer then, twisted over her shoulder in a messy braid that had been mussed by the wooly cap she'd been pulling off, rather than the neatly styled bob she's been sporting the last half-decade or so. And she'd been pink-cheeked and grinning, a light in her eyes, her smile, that Robin doesn't think he's seen since they lost Daniel.

And then she'd started talking, had been fun and witty and whip-smart.

Robin had been madly in love with Marian at the time, and the little jolt of attraction he'd felt for Regina Mills had made him feel more guilt than pleasure, so he'd pushed it down. Dismissed it. They were both happily attached, and the world was full of attractive, interesting people. None of them were Marian, nor worth losing her, so Robin had done the next best thing he could with his interest in Regina: he'd made a new friend.

And friends they've been, to varying degrees, ever since.

With Marian several years gone now, that little punch of attraction comes with much less guilt. Less, but not none – coveting another man's wife and all.

But a little coveting never hurt anyone (that's quite the lie, and nobody knows it better than the two of them), so he doesn't say hello just yet. Instead, he takes a moment to watch her, tilting his head shamelessly to get a good look at her around Leroy's bulky winter coat. She's in dark denim, and heeled hiking boots the color of red wine, her black parka long enough that he can't ogle her too inappropriately.

Probably for the best.

As it is, he feels a sharp jab between his shoulder blades and turns around to find Ruby Lucas in line behind him, her brows rising toward her hairline in amusement.

Robin shrugs, and tells her, "I'm going to talk to her in a minute; I figured I'd let her order first."

"Uh huh," Ruby says doubtfully, and then the line is moving forward, Regina stepping to the side to wait for her drink, pulling her phone from her bag and frowning far too seriously at it.

She's always been far too serious, Regina.

Leroy orders a coffee, black, with an extra shot of espresso, and then Robin asks for his usual London Fog.

When he's finished paying, Regina is still scowling down at her phone. As he takes a step closer, Robin can see that she's distracted not by text messages or emails, but by what appears to be a particularly vexing game of Sudoku.

He smiles a little, and then leans in even closer, startling her slightly as he says, "Let me guess: a Candy Cane Mocha, skim milk, no whip."

Her smile blossoms as she adjusts to his unexpected presence (her lips are the same wine color as her shoes and bag, and she looks far too pretty for not-even-ten AM, but then, she usually does). His assessment has her shaking her head with a low chuckle.

"Robin," she greets warmly, although there's the usual hint of awkwardness underneath it. The slightest hesitation that's lingered under their hellos ever since that Christmas before he'd married Marian, the one when they'd made The Mistake. It always fades quickly, and today is no different, her head tilting, eyes narrowing slightly as she corrects, "Whole milk, with whip, extra candy pieces."

Robin's brows lift. "Madam Mayor that bad already?"

She laughs, one hand lifting to run through her hair (it's a bit mussed, and he can see a grey cap tucked into the front pocket of her coat), as she says, "Among other things. And let me guess – a London Fog, extra tea bag, whole milk."

Robin shrugs his shoulders and admits, "You know me too well. Or perhaps I'm just boring."

"Comfortably predictable," she tells him, and then something shifts in her expression – a shadow flickering beneath the ease of their banter. Her smile wanes just slightly, then bounces back, a little tighter around the edges.

He's managed to touch a nerve, somehow. The urge to smooth it over is reflexive, has him asking, "Are you off to somewhere, or do you have time to sit for a minute and catch up over coffee? If you'd like, that is."

That smile loosens, eases, and she gives him a little nod, says, "I need to stop by Zelena's at some point this morning, but it can wait. Do you need to get to the shop?"

Robin glances up at the clock on the wall, and tells her, "I have twenty minutes, and it's just across the street."

"Then I'll grab us a table – you get the drinks," she orders, turning in the small space to find an open spot.

The coffee shop isn't terribly busy today, thankfully, so she nabs them a quiet corner table, and Robin juggles their two drinks and her cranberry scone as he makes his way to her. She's shrugged out of her coat, leaving her in a sort of marbled grey jumper that puddles cozily around her. It looks unbearably soft, and despite the fact that she's perfectly casual, it's all so effortlessly put together that Robin feels somehow underdressed when he sets their drinks down and unzips himself.

He's in old, worn jeans and a navy henley, the hoodie he'd thrown over it to keep out the December chill sporting a small hole along the seam of one of the cuffs. His boots are scuffed heavily along one side, one of the laces knotted together where it had popped at home a week ago – he's been meaning to nick a pair from the store and re-lace them ever since.

Thankfully, Regina doesn't seem to notice any of it, reaching for her coffee and lifting it to her lips, humming softly in satisfaction after the first sip.

"I've been looking forward to that for months," she sighs as Robin pulls the to-go top from his own drink and takes a cautious sip – he's burned his tongue on his morning tea one time too many.

It's alright today, though, so he swallows and asks, "Was it everything you remembered?"

"Mm," Regina hums in confirmation, "And more."

She reaches for her scone and breaks off a piece of it, asking him, "So, what's new in Storybrooke? If I ask Mother, she'll just talk my ear off about changes in the town charter or who is violating city ordinances."

Robin chuckles and leans back a little in his chair, squinting up toward the ceiling as he tries to think of anything notable.

"Well… We had our largest Miner's Day celebration in nineteen years, and raised enough to keep the convent open for God knows how much longer. But the real excitement came from Sister Astrid giving up her vows because she's fallen in love with Leroy of all people."

Regina's eyes pop wide, her jaw dropping and then spreading into a disbelieving grin.

"No," she gasps, and Robin nods. " _Leroy?_ "

"He's like a different person," Robin chuckles. "It's bizarre."

"Oh, this I have to see," she laughs, shaking her head and taking another sip. "I can't believe Zelena didn't tell me."

"Well, you know how she's always felt about the Sisters."

"All the more reason she should have told me," Regina argues, breaking off another hunk of her scone and offering it to Robin. He takes it as she asks, "What else?"

"The ice cream parlor is now a day spa, much to my endless disappointment," he laments before popping the bit of scone in his mouth, and Regina smirks.

"What's the matter? You too manly for a manicure?"

"Absolutely," Robin nods around his mouthful, swallowing before he tells her, "Granny's serves poké now, although I think that's to do with Ruby taking over more and more."

Regina's brows rise and fall, both hands wrapping around the base of her cup. Robin's eyes are drawn to the motion, and it's then that he notices it: her left hand is bare.

He falters for a second, only one, but it's long enough. She notices what he's noticed, and her fingers curl in alongside her cup, as she offers him a quiet, acknowledging, "Yeah."

The shift in tone is sudden, like a door slamming shut on their casual levity and leaving a deafening silence in its wake.

Robin's heart aches with sympathy as he tells her, "I'm sorry."

But she shakes her head at him, her lips curving into something that should be smile but isn't.

"I'm not," she tells him. "It was my choice. One I should have made a long time ago. But then, you always knew that, didn't you?"

Robin glances down at the table, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. He'd never liked Leo Blanchard – or rather, he'd never liked him for Regina. And he'd told her so, once, before they'd married. Had told her he'd thought she was making a mistake, in a rather tense conversation he'd sooner forget.

"I shouldn't have said what I did back then," Robin says to her, dropping his voice to afford them a bit of privacy. "I couldn't understand yet what you'd meant about having had your one big love. Feeling like nothing will ever measure up, so why bother. I get it, now."

Regina nods slowly, turning her cup absently, as she tells him, "I'm sorry that you do." She sucks in a breath after that, forcing her smile into something a bit more cheeky and teasing him a little when she says, "Is that why nobody has snatched you up yet?"

Robin leans forward, reaching across the table and breaking off another little hunk of her scone (she moves the plate to the center of the table when he does, a silent agreement that it's both of theirs now), before he says to her, "I suppose. I've been out with a few women over the years, but…" He frowns, and tells her, "This town is a bit _too_ small, if that makes sense."

Her smile grows again, blooms into a soft chuckle, and she tells him, "I can see how that would be an issue."

"Everyone here knew me with Marian – everyone here knew _Marian_." He breaks off a little bit of crumb, but doesn't eat it, just grinds it lazily between his thumb and finger until it dissolves onto the plate between them. "There's always this feeling like she's there. Even when she's not. Does that make sense?"

"It does," Regina nods. "Dating Graham after Daniel was… strange, sometimes. It's hard to build something new with someone who watched your last relationship unfold and end tragically. That was one of the things that drew me to Leo in the beginning. Getting to know someone _new_ , someone who I could tell my story to, in my own way. Share as much as I wanted, or keep as much as I wanted."

She's the one breaking off a piece of the scone now, popping it into her mouth and chewing after she says, "It was nice."

There's something in the way she says it, a sort of tone. As much as she may say she's not sorry, he thinks she's still bruised.

Robin can't resist asking, "When did it happen? The split? The two of you seemed happy last Christmas."

"Happy enough," she tells him, a wry echo of what she'd told him a decade ago, when he'd asked her if this man she was set to marry really made her happy.

Robin's lips curve sympathetically, his head bobbing slightly. Happy enough isn't happy at all, not really. Not in a lasting way.

"We just finalized," she tells him softly, "But we split about three months ago, officially."

Still fresh, then, he thinks, reaching over on impulse and weaving his fingers in between hers.

She gives him a little squeeze and then relaxes, but she doesn't let go.

"We weren't going to tell anyone until after the holidays," she says, scowling a little and adding, "Or, over the holidays, I suppose. But I walked in the door last night and my mother somehow already knew."

"I can't say I'm surprised," he mutters, rubbing his thumb over hers. "Mayor Mills does always seem to know what's going on in everyone's lives."

"That she does," Regina sighs, her eyes rolling heavenward for a moment. "I managed to claim exhaustion and get out of the conversation before it dragged on _too_ long, but she's determined to revisit it. So."

She raises her coffee with a pointed look, and confesses, "I ducked out while she was on a call this morning. Not very mature, but I'm forty-one years old; I don't want a lecture about the choices I make for my own marriage."

"She thinks you're making a mistake?"

"She thinks…" Regina sighs, and disentangles their fingers, wrapping both hands around her coffee cup again and then lifting it to take a sip before she finishes her thought.

Her tongue peeks out to swipe a bit of mocha from her lip, and Robin presses his own lips together. It's a wholly inappropriate time to think of kissing her, but he does anyway. He remembers her, thinks about her occasionally, when he's alone and thinking of Marian leaves too much of an ache. Thinks of the way he knows Regina kisses, strong and sure and passionate. The quiet sound she makes in the back of her throat when he sucks at her lower lip.

He shouldn't be thinking about this.

Robin takes a deep gulp of his tea, grateful for a distraction when she starts speaking again.

"She told me once—years ago, before I married Leo—that infatuation was for silly teenagers, and that one day, I would grow out of it. I would meet a man whose trajectory matched the one I wanted for myself, and I would choose a life that made sense, not one that made me all moon-eyed for some boy who taught kids to ride horses."

Robin snorts a little, shaking his head.

"It was a while after he'd died, and it made me _so angry_ that she would reduce Daniel to that – to some schoolyard crush that I'd outgrow. I'd loved him, so deeply." She digs her thumb into the edge of her cup, tilting her head slightly, and continuing, "But… it's what she'd done herself, and I knew that. She married my father because it was smart, not because it was… passionate. And after Daniel…" She hesitates for a moment, and drops her gaze to the melting whipped cream on top of her cup as she speaks swiftly, "There was only one other person I ever felt that sort of… spark… with. And he was dating my friend."

She glances up at him then, nervously, perfect white teeth biting down on red-painted lips, and Robin's heart does this sort of tripping drum-beat as his mouth opens in surprise.

It's not that he hadn't known she'd felt something for him back then – he's seen her naked, he's been _inside_ her, he _knows_ there was something between them, once. It's just that he hadn't expected her to lend _voice_ to it, after all these years.

He's a bit dumbfounded, caught off guard, and it throws him just long enough for her to take his gobsmacked silence the wrong way. Her cheeks flush pink as she laughs uncomfortably, and mutters, "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that."

That snaps Robin back into action, one of his hands reaching out to squeeze her wrist as he shakes his head and insists, "No, it's alright. Me, too. You definitely weren't alone in that."

Her shoulders sink on a relieved exhale, but she's still excusing it all, telling him, "I wasn't _in love with you_ or anything like that. I just… had a little crush."

"Oh, I had a big crush," he assures her shamelessly, pleased when she laughs at him. His grin echoes hers as he admits, "From the moment we met, I was utterly smitten. But I loved Marian, and you loved Daniel, so… I never indulged it."

A memory bubbles up, a much younger Regina, trying very hard not to make a sound as she orgasmed in his childhood bed during the winter holidays, and, okay, well, _never_ is probably not accurate, is it?

So he concedes, "Well, I guess there was London," and watches her silly smile warm to something a bit more knowing.

"Yes, there was London," she agrees, and he likes to think that the way her tongue wets her lips ever-so-briefly means she's thinking of the same things he is.

But it's just a moment, and then she's continuing her tale, telling him, "And then you were back with Marian; you were taken. And I was never sure if I really felt that way about _you_ or if I was just envious of what the two of you had. What I'd lost when Daniel… passed. Either way, you were no longer an option, and the one time we made that mistake again, it…" She grimaces, and he sobers, agreeing wholeheartedly with the rest of her assessment: "Wasn't exactly a shining moment for me – for either of us. So I told myself whatever attraction I may have felt for you was selfish, and childish – an infatuation, like Mother had said. And I moved on, and found myself a man whose trajectory matched my own. And I thought matching trajectories would be enough to make me happy, but it wasn't. Maybe that kind of marriage had been enough for her, but not for me, and I don't expect her to understand that. How could she?"

"That's sad," he tells her, and then he realizes how that might sound and clarifies, "Her – not you. It's sad to think someone could never understand why settling isn't enough."

Regina's head bobs slowly, and she lifts her drink again, taking a few swallows as a comfortable silence settles between them. When she sets the cup down again, there's a bit of whipped cream clinging to her lip for a just a moment, until it gets swept away by her tongue. And then she sighs, and says, "You know what? I think we're lucky, you and I. We may have lost our big loves, but we had them. Not everybody gets that – something real, and soul-moving like that. My mother didn't. We're lucky that we did."

"We are," he agrees. "I've always thought that – cancer is a bitch, but… I've never regretted loving Marian, no matter how painful the end of our story was. I was fortunate to have every day with her that I did."

"It's just a shame that it leaves such big shoes to fill for the next person. Nobody seems to measure up."

"Isn't that the truth," Robin commiserates. "I keep telling myself that I need to stop using her as a yardstick. Stop comparing. But how do you do that when someone has been so much of your life?"

"I would say it gets easier the longer you're with someone, but… I still thought of Daniel when I was with Leo. I wondered how things would be different if I'd been able to marry him instead." Her lips curve into a wry smile, and she admits, "Especially when I was angry with Leo, or when he was being… obstinate, or… when we disagreed about something we wanted for our lives. I'd imagine how much better it would be if it had been Daniel – because of course, he'd have taken my side."

"Naturally," Robin agrees gamely, and they both laugh softly.

"That's probably not a healthy habit," she grimaces. "Probably wasn't very good for our marriage."

"Getting married probably wasn't very good for your marriage," he mutters, caught up in the conversation and forgetting for a moment how much a comment like that might cut. At least, until she gives him The Look, her brows sliding up slowly. Robin coughs a little, and apologizes. "I'm sorry; I didn't think."

"Sure, you did; you just didn't like him," Regina says knowingly. "No point in pretending you did now that it's over."

"He was nice enough," Robin concedes, because although he'd found Leo to be a bit arrogant, and dull, and superior (she's right, he _hadn't_ liked him), he'd never been _unkind,_ and he'd always seemed to treat Regina well. "But no, I suppose I didn't like him overly much. And I still think you deserve more than 'nice enough' or 'happy enough.' If ending things is what you needed to do to be happy, then I can't say I'm sorry you did it."

She smiles sadly at that, and then that smile wavers a little and her eyes well with tears and Robin's stomach drops. He reaches out for her again immediately, but she draws her arm back before he can make contact, shaking her head and blinking rapidly, telling him, "Don't. I'm alright." She sucks in a breath, lets it out, and her eyes seem to dry by sheer force of will. "I don't want to cry here, and if you do that, I will."

"I'm sorry," he tells her, sincerely. "I didn't meant to upset—"

"You didn't," she assures him, going back to turning that nearly-empty coffee between her hands. "It's just that… I'm not very happy."

Regina smiles again, or tries to, but it's a pained, pale imitation of the real thing. She keeps talking, her voice soft and private, quiet enough that he has to lean in to hear her properly.

"Our marriage was over long before I asked to end it; we both knew that, I think. But I didn't realize how _used_ to it I was until I had my own place, and my own things. Nobody else taking up space in my bed, or putting their pickled onions in my fridge, or cluttering my bookshelves with biographies of _every_ U.S. president and founding father." The edge of exasperation in her voice is familiar, makes him think of the cabinet of 80s cassette tapes that he'd packed away long after Marian died, and he can't help but smile a little. "It's just me. And it's lonely – especially over the last few months, when we weren't telling anyone about it. It's a relief that the marriage is over, that I can start to move forward, but it's been hard. And scary, too. I've been 'Leo Blanchard's Wife' for the last ten years; now I'm just me. And 'just me' is… too quiet. My bookshelves are too empty, and I just bought an electric blanket because I was tired of stretching out and finding the cold spot in the bed."

Robin has his hands clenched against his thighs to keep from reaching out for her again, because those tears have managed to find their way back to the edges of her lashes. They spill over as she admits just above a whisper that she'd "decorated an apartment I wasn't even going to spend the holidays in, because…" and she rushes to wipe them away, losing her thought in favor of cursing herself softly and sniffling, and Robin can't take it anymore.

"Can I please hold your hand?" he asks her, because she cannot expect him to just sit here while she cries. She nods, and he reaches out, grasping her hand and squeezing. The moment they touch, her shoulders shake with a silent sob, and another tear slips out and down her cheek. And of course it does, because she's been going through all of this _alone_ , keeping it all a secret. But it's not a secret anymore, so Robin decides to hell with it, and scoots his chair around the side of the table, using their joined hands to pull her in close as he murmurs, "Come here, darling."

She crumples into his side, pressing her head to his shoulder, ducking it into his neck to hide her tears from the few other people sipping their coffees and chatting around them. Her shoulders shudder as he wraps his arm around them and rubs his hand up and down her bicep. That jumper is just as soft as it had looked, and the familiar scent of her perfume wafts around him like a cloud now that he's this close.

He presses his chin against her hair and makes a soothing sound as she sniffles again, her shoulders rising sharply on a deep breath, as she gasps, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine, love," he assures, giving her a little squeeze as she wipes at her cheek again.

And then she's muttering a wet, choked, "Oh God, everyone knows me in this town; me sobbing on your shoulder in the middle of the coffee shop is going to make it all the way through the rumor mill by noon, and good luck keeping the divorce private after that."

Robin chuckles sympathetically, but reminds her, "You're telling Zelena, aren't you? She'll have told half the town by noon anyway."

"True," she chokes, and he thinks the way her shoulders quake this time might be a laugh. Her sister isn't exactly known for her discretion.

Regina stays there against him for another few seconds, and Robin feels her take a deep breath, and then one more, before she pushes away, sitting up and brushing one last time at flushed, damp cheeks. She's still sniffling, and her eyes are red, but she's trying to pull herself together.

Robin knows she's right – anyone having a good cry in the coffee shop won't go undiscussed, but it being the Mayor's daughter won't help matters at all. And the fact that she's leaning on _him_ while she does it, well… Small towns have long memories and he has no doubt that there are a few out there who remember their little indiscretion all those years ago. So he lets his arm fall away from her, dropping his hand subtly to her knee under the table instead and giving it a squeeze that he hopes nobody can see.

"I'm sorry," she says again, sounding far more embarrassed than she has any right to be. "I don't know what came over me."

"Regina," Robin chides gently. "You're allowed to be upset over this – even if it's what you asked for."

She nods, another of those sad, forced smiles making its way onto her lips, and then she narrows her eyes and asks him, "Aren't you late for work?"

Robin startles, craning to see the clock, now solidly past ten AM, and mutters, "Shit!"

When he turns back, her smile is less forced, more hopelessly amused, and she shakes her head at him as she says, "I'm sorry I made you late."

"Nah, it's alright. Luckily for me, I'm the boss." Robin smirks at her, then gulps down the last of his tea.

"Yes, lucky you," she teases, her voice still a little thick from her crying jag. She wraps her napkin around the little bit of scone left on her plate and shoves it into the pocket of her coat, then shrugs said jacket onto her shoulders as Robin grabs both their cups and her plate and gets rid of them.

She's all zipped up, bag over her arm, tugging on that cap that had been stowed in her pocket when he returns to the table and insists, "Let me walk you to your car."

"Oh, I'm just parked out back," she dismisses, but Robin will have none of it.

"I insist," he tells her, pulling on his own coat and zipping it up.

She doesn't argue again – which is good, because he'd have had to fight her on it, and Lord knows the two of them can bicker until they both turn blue.

It takes a whole minute for him to follow her out the back and to her parked Mercedes; when she reaches her driver's side door, she turns to him with a look no doubt meant to point out how pointless his escort had been.

But he'd followed her out for a reason, and it wasn't simple neighborliness: There's nobody else back here, so it affords them just enough privacy for him to open his arms to her for a proper hug. Regina smiles a little, and steps into his embrace.

Robin rubs his palms up and down her back, assuring her, "It sounds like you made the best choice for everyone, even if it's hard right now. The happiness will come, just give it time. And when you get lonely, you have my number, alright? Any time, day or night, just call."

Robin feels her arms squeeze around his middle, feels her nod against him, and then she's pulling back, and telling him, "Thank you," and, "I'm really glad we ran into each other today."

"Me, too," he says, stuffing his bare hands into his pockets as the wind whips up for a moment. She feels it, too; he sees her shoulders hunch forward just a little to burrow herself deeper into her coat. "It's been too long since we had a proper catch-up."

"It has," she agrees. And then she's telling him, "Merry Christmas, if I don't see you in the next few days," and Robin finds he doesn't at all want to lose her company.

But she has plans, and he has a business to open for the day, so he doesn't press for more time. He does, however, make sure to ask her, "You'll be at Granny's on New Year's, I hope?"

She smiles, and promises, "Wouldn't miss it."

 **.::.**

Regina is just fine until she turns off of Main Street. Or at least, she's still dry-eyed. Mostly.

She'd been glad to run into Robin – she knew they'd bump into each other somewhere, eventually. It would be almost impossible not to in this town. She just wishes it hadn't ended in such a mortifying way.

She's not sure what had come over her. She'd been _fine_ , has been fine for weeks. Sure, there have been a few tears, a few moments of weakness, but those had always been in the comfort and privacy of her own home, late at night. She hasn't broken down in _public_ like that.

But then, she hasn't really had an opportunity to, has she?

She certainly wasn't going to tell Leo or the lawyers about the pervasive, aching loneliness of living on her own after so long, and there had been nobody else.

Actually speaking the words aloud (and to someone she trusts, someone so warm and open) had _done something_ to her. Her confession had scraped open a scab on her heart and left her bleeding right there in front of him.

Thank God it hadn't been somebody else.

Thank God she'd been able to button herself back up before she really gave in to the twisting, pinching ache in her chest.

But that reprieve seems to be temporary, because as she drives away from the coffee shop, she can't shake the sensation of a warm body holding hers close, of the scratch of his beard against her hair or the soft sound of his voice offering her comfort. The scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a welcoming fog as he'd given her one more hug for the road.

If they'd been somewhere more private, she thinks she'd probably have stayed much longer in the soothing safety of his arms. Would have soaked up every bit of warm comfort he offered her, until her emotional tank had risen from its currently blinking warning next to the proverbial dreaded E all the way up to the top.

But back parking lot or not, they'd still been in the middle of town (and as much as she's aching for something to fill that yawning void in her middle, she can't just force him to fall face-first into the abyss for her), so she'd pulled away after a polite amount of time and made her exit, dignity still semi-intact.

Right now, though, she's thinking that maybe she should have sacrificed some more of that dignity, because her cells are screaming at her to turn the car around, to go back, to pull him into the semi-dark of his locked-up store, and tug his arms around her again. To stand there a little while longer, and let someone coddle her for a bit.

Somehow that little reprieve from her loneliness has only whet her appetite for more contact, more connection, and she feels her eyes well again with stubborn tears just as soon as she's left the little stretch of downtown for the back roads that lead to her sister's farm.

She blinks rapidly as the road wavers wetly in front of her, one hand wiping angrily at the traitorous tears that slip down her cheeks. They're only replaced by more, though, and this particular back road is still a little snowy, making everything blur white at the edges.

It's dangerous to drive like this, even this early in the day, so Regina pulls carefully over onto the little strip of shoulder and puts her car in park.

Then she unclips her seat belt, drops her forehead to her crossed arms over the steering wheel and lets herself cry it out. No use in trying to keep it all bottled, especially if it means she might end up blubbering all over her sister, too.

It's not pretty, this second not-so-little crying jag. She blows her nose no less than three times, fishing a travel pack of tissues from her glove compartment, and she is so, so grateful nobody is around to hear the way she gasps and sniffles, her throat thick and choked, aching at each tight sob that works its way up from her chest. Her tears run steadily, too, wiped away again and again with the edge of her sleeve, until it finally passes.

It's not more than ten minutes, all told, but when she flips down the visor mirror after she finally turns off the waterworks, she can't help but grimace at her reflection. Her cheeks are flushed and blotchy, and her nose is red and stuffy. She blows it once more for good measure, then punches the button to lower her window and let in some cold air before she reaches for her purse. She fishes out foundation and her emergency concealer, covering the slight redness and saying a prayer of thanks for waterproof mascara as she resorts to eye drops to urge her bloodshot eyes back to normal.

They're still a little puffy, but she has a good ten minutes' drive left, and if she leaves the window down, they'll hopefully settle.

Deciding she's done the best she can, Regina puts her car back in gear, and heads once more in the direction of her sister's place.

Several minutes later, she turns up the long drive toward Zelena's farmhouse, unsurprised to see twin rows of reindeer looking skeletal in the daylight, waiting for night to fall and their owner to flip the switch and bring them to twinkling life. There are balsam firs in all different sizes lining the drive, several empty stumps where this year's crop has been cut down and sold.

When the house comes into view, there are more decorations on the lawn. Snowmen and another pair of reindeer, more than one Santa, and some waving elves.

What their mother lacks in festive tendencies, Zelena more than makes up for.

Nothing about the farmhouse is imposing or austere in the slightest – it's homey any time of year, but especially at Christmas, when the porch is strung with large, retro multi-colored bulbs that Mother insists look cheap and tacky. Regina likes them, though. They're very… Zelena.

She pulls up next to her sister's beat up old Pinto and parks, taking a deep, cleansing breath to flush out the last dregs of her little breakdown before she steps out onto the gravel drive.

There's a mat in front of Zelena's door with a cartoon owl on a snowy branch, and the words "Owl be home for Christmas." Regina chuckles down at it as she rings the bell, absolutely certain that her niece is responsible for the purchase. Even Zelena's sense of whimsy has its limits.

After a moment, the door swings open, Zelena on the other side in an apron flecked with flour, her ginger curls pulled back in a messy braid. Regina can already tell something has her in a mood by the cock of her hip, the way her hand shifts to wrap around the edge of the door itself instead of the handle.

She gives Regina a quick once-over, then asks, "What's wrong with you?"

Regina bristles, the idea of hanging back and hiding with Robin for the day looking better and better.

"Well, hello to you, too, Sis," she bites, asking, "What kind of a greeting is that?"

"Your eyes are all red," Zelena points out, stepping back and opening the door a little further to invite Regina in as she surmises, "You've been crying."

"Oh…" Suddenly her question makes a lot more sense. "I just had a…" _Sobfest on the shoulder of the friend you've always been convinced was half in love with me over the divorce I've yet to tell you about_ doesn't seem a wise response, so Regina settles on, "conversation that upset me. It's nothing."

"Not with our mother, I'm assuming. She called twenty minutes ago to see if you were here," Zelena tells her, and that explains her testy mood. Regina unzips her coat and stashes it in the front closet as Zelena continues, "She said you 'snuck out' this morning to avoid her. Seemed quite miffed that you'd give her the slip on your first day in town."

Regina sighs, raking a hand through her hair and wondering if maybe she should have just stayed and put up with the interrogation this morning rather than pile onto Mother's irritation with her.

"I didn't 'give her the slip,'" she mutters, "I just… left while she was busy, and didn't say goodbye."

Zelena snorts and shakes her head, smirking as she turns toward the kitchen and says, "That sounds an awful lot like sneaking out to me. And next time you use me as an alibi while you're off having secret conversations, be a dear and let me know, would you? That way, I can at least come up with a proper lie."

"I didn't use you as an alibi," Regina tells her. "I stopped for coffee and ran into Robin Locksley; we got caught up talking."

Zelena pauses just outside the kitchen door so she can offer up a pointed: "And crying."

Regina's brows lift and fall, a sort-of admission. "I mostly cried after, to be honest. But yes."

"Mostly?" Zelena questions, pushing open the kitchen door and stepping inside. "What on earth could he have said to get you so riled up?"

Regina follows her, unsurprised to find the kitchen table covered in baking accoutrements. The whole room smells like fragrant spices, and there's a pie dough already rolled out on a silicone mat over the table's wooden surface, along with a bowl half-filled with tart green apples. She'd guessed from the apron and flour that she'd caught Zelena in the midst of baking, but what she wasn't expecting was to discover she's not alone.

Parked by the table carefully peeling the skin from another firm fruit is a little girl who isn't so little anymore. Ophelia is twelve now, as of about a month ago, and has gotten downright gangly if the long legs clad in purple snowflake leggings are any indication. When she looks up and catches sight of Regina she breaks into a grin that reveals a set of braces meant to perfect the gap-toothed grin Regina has always so adored.

"Aunt Regina!" she exclaims, hopping up and thoroughly derailing the conversation the two sisters had been having. To be honest, that's fine by Regina – she doesn't mind a little detour away from the subject of her divorce.

What she does mind, though, is the realization that her niece has nearly surpassed her in height already.

"When did you get so _tall_?" she asks as she returns the girl's enthusiastic hug.

"I grew up," Ophelia shrugs as she steps back, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. She really is Zelena's mini-me – the same hair, the same icy blue eyes. The same tendency for dramatics if Regina recalls. Case in point: "Maybe if you didn't wait so long to come visit, I wouldn't look so tall."

Regina laughs and shakes her head, telling her, "Alright, point taken. It's been a busy fall. But that doesn't change the fact that you're nearly as tall as I am. Soon you're going to be taller than me, and then what will we do?"

"Send her to the Goodwill for jeans, if she keeps growing out of them at this rate," Zelena mutters in the general direction of the crust she's returned to rolling out.

Ophelia looks scandalized, letting out a far-too-teenage, " _Mom!_ I'm not wearing hand-me-down jeans to _school_."

"It's not as though they put it on the label," her mother points out, an argument that doesn't help in the slightest.

Regina chuckles, and urges Ophelia back toward her apples, taking up one of the paring knives herself and grabbing a fresh apple to peel.

"Speaking of school," she starts as she runs the sharp knife in a spiral starting just beside the stem, "I didn't expect to see you today. Isn't it a school day?"

"Not today," her niece explains, finishing her own apple with the vegetable peeler. "It's the first day of break."

"Ah."

She should've figured.

"You know, I do have another peeler," Zelena points out, as Regina continues to drag her knife beneath the peel in one continuous ribbon.

"Now where would be the fun in that?" she taunts, giving Ophelia a wink.

Ophelia grins and tells her mom, "I want to see if she can peel the whole thing in one piece."

"Of course she can," Zelena mutters. "She always does."

Regina and Ophelia share a smirk, and Regina shrugs with a smug, "True."

For a few minutes, they work in silence, Zelena finishing her crusts and then starting to cut out little snowflake shapes from the extra dough for decoration, while Regina continues her slow peeling of the apple and Ophelia cuts hers into appropriately pie-sized wedges.

It's comforting, homey, nice. Something Regina misses, living so far away. It's less than a day's drive, and an even quicker flight, but somehow she never manages to make the trip as often as she'd like. Time just seems to get away from her, the little day-to-day tasks piling up until a week has gone by, then a month, two, three...

"Where's Uncle Leo?" Ophelia asks, breaking into Regina's thoughts and making her stomach plummet and twist. So much for that little conversational detour. "Is he still at Grandma's?"

"He's, um…"

Regina focuses hard on the end of her apple peel ribbon, avoiding eye contact under the guise of trying not to fail just before the end. She'd come here to talk to Zelena about everything, but hadn't counted on having to explain it to a pre-teen. Especially with all these raw emotions somehow so close to the surface again.

She decides to keep it simple, and vague, telling them, "We broke up, actually. So he's… not here."

She hears Ophelia's surprised, "Oh," and Zelena's sympathetic, "Oh, sweetie…" at the same time.

She reaches the end of her ribbon, and drops it in front of Ophelia, then reaches for a fresh apple as she insists, "I'm fine. It's… fine. It was my…"

Regina sighs, digs the knife in near the stem again and starts over.

"It was mutual," she tells them, glancing up again at Zelena to add, "It's actually why I wanted to come over this morning – to tell you, in person, although honestly I'm surprised Mother didn't tell you this morning when she called."

They're both looking at her with too much pinched sympathy, the same knit in their brows, the same scowl, and Regina doesn't want that. She came here to break the news, not for people to feel sorry for her over something she chose for herself.

So she forces a smile and brightens her tone a bit, reaching over to give Ophelia's hand a squeeze as she says, "But I don't want it to take over Christmas — I want to spend the week here, with you guys, having fun. So, what are we going to do together? Because as much as I love your grandmother, and I do, if I have to spend the entire week at home getting pestered about my personal life, I might just scream."

Ophelia giggles, well aware of her grandmother's tendency to needle and pick.

She seems to trust Regina's desire to brush off the topic of her divorce (it's not as though Ophelia and Leo had ever been close; he was never very good with kids – a flaw she wishes she hadn't been so willing to overlook early on), all too happy to perk up herself and suggest, "There's always the winter festival! That's what we're making more pies for."

Of course. Regina had thought that maybe, just maybe, this pie was for Christmas dinner, but there's far too many apples piled up for just one, isn't there? Zelena has had a stall at the Storybrooke Winter Festival for just about as long as she's been growing things on this farm. Mostly canned goods – pickled vegetables, and jams, and apple butter, applesauce. And eventually, pies.

It's ironic, considering how bad she'd once been at baking. Really, truly terrible, until Regina herself had spent more and more time escaping to the little farmhouse when she came home, teaching her how to make use of all the apples she had from the tree out front, all the raspberries from the bushes she'd planted out back, or the rhubarb that grew in a patch along the side of the house.

Now the student has surpassed the master, it seems.

"Speaking of the winter festival," Ophelia continues leadingly, glancing over at her mother with her lip trapped between her teeth for a second, and then asking, "Can I go the day after Christmas? With some friends? By myself?"

Zelena narrow her eyes and asks, "Which friends?"

"Trevor, from my class," Ophelia answers, with a but too much excitement tinged with innocence.

"Absolutely not," Zelena shuts her down, earning an emphatic protest of _Mom!_ "No, Phee, I'm not letting you go on a date with some boy to the winter festival."

"It's not a _date_ ," Ophelia insists, her cheeks going pink in a way that makes Regina think a date is exactly what it is. She remembers being twelve, and wanting very much to follow a certain boy all around the autumn harvest festival, sneaking off to share her first kiss behind some piled hay bales and getting giddy over spiced apple cider and clumsy flirting.

She looks at her niece and wonders what happened to the girl who used to want to play Barbies every time Regina came to visit.

"Is this the same Trevor you've been talking about nonstop for weeks?" Zelena questions, and Ophelia goes practically crimson.

"I have _not_!" she squeaks; Regina has to fight not to smirk, focusing hard on the apple she's peeling.

Zelena is still going: "And you want me to let you go spend a romantic evening unsupervised with—"

"It's not a 'romantic evening,' Mom, it's just the winter festival," Ophelia tells her, sounding more exasperated by the moment.

"You're too young for boys."

"He's my friend!"

"You're too old to be friends with—"

"Okay," Regina cuts in pointedly, growing weary of the ping-pong match, and frankly starting to feel like Zelena is being just a little unfair. She sets down her knife and apple to suggest, "What if _I_ took Ophelia and Trevor to the winter festival? That way, they won't be unsupervised. And nobody takes their aunt on a date, so you won't have to worry about any… funny business."

Ophelia's face lights up, her spine going straighter as she nods her head. "Please, Mom?"

Zelena narrows her eyes at Regina, her scowl pinched, her jaw shifting. "You really want to spend the night babysitting?"

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't."

She relents, waving a hand in defeat and telling Ophelia, "Fine, if your aunt is there, you can go to the winter festival with Trevor."

Ophelia lets out an excited squeak, apples forgotten as she launches herself at Regina and clobbers her with a hug, spilling a litany of, "Thank you thank you thank you!"s, then bouncing over to her mom to do the same.

And then she looks between them, and says, "I'll be right back!" before making a swift exit.

"Why do I get the impression she won't be back any time soon?" Regina wonders with amusement.

"You're the one who got her the cell phone for her birthday," Zelena grumbles. "I'm sure she'll be on it for the rest of the day now, so you'd better be fine with apple duty."

"I haven't complained yet," Regina points out, reaching for the peeler now that speed and efficiency rest solely on her shoulders.

"And it's _definitely_ a date," Zelena continues as though Regina hadn't said anything.

"She's twelve," Regina reminds. "Even if it is a 'date,' he'll buy her a cocoa and they'll walk around looking at trinkets until their noses get frostbite, and then I'll bring her home. And I will be right there with them the whole time."

"You know, you don't have to spoil her just because you only see her twice a year," Zelena says, reaching for an already finished batch of pie filling. "She adores you even if you don't help her defy her mother."

"Maybe I just want to escape _our_ mother for a night," Regina challenges. "Did you think of that?"

Zelena makes a face, a sort of commiserating widening of her eyes and raise of her brows, although she stays focused on spooning the filling into her pie crust. "Am I right in guessing she was less than thrilled when you told her you and Leo broke up?"

"I didn't tell her, actually," Regina admits, irritation bleeding through. "In fact, I… fibbed a little when she asked why Leo wasn't with me – and _then_ she told me that she already knew about the divorce."

Zelena snorts and tells her, "Sounds about right."

"Mm," Regina confirms. "So not only did she have to find out about her daughter's divorce from someone else, said daughter lied to her face about it on top of that."

"But on the plus side, I get a break from being the family disappointment," Zelena smirks, scooping up the top crust of her pie and laying it carefully over the filled bottom shell.

Regina chuckles ruefully and teases, "Well, whatever I can do to make life easier for you, Zelena." She makes quick work of the apple she'd been peeling, reaching for another as she says, "And no, to answer your original question, she's not thrilled. She said I should 'take the week to decide if it was right,' and that we could 'discuss my options'—hence my early exit this morning."

"I don't blame you," Zelena mutters; if Regina were to look up from her apple, she'd find her sister deftly pinching together the two crusts of her pie. "Are you sure you don't want to spend the week here with me and Phee? We don't have a three thousand dollar mattress, but I hear the pull out couch isn't bad."

Regina smirks, but shakes her head. As tempting as the offer is, "I think we both know how well that would go over. And no matter what 'options' she thinks there are, the papers are signed. It's done." She just hopes Mother will see it that way. "And besides, she'd find a time to say her piece either way. At least if I'm staying with her, I stand a chance of it being at home, alone, without an audience to my shame."

She'd said it with a healthy dose of derision, with enough sneer that she'd hoped Zelena would laugh, or overlook it, or… well, anything but what she's doing now: pausing in her task long enough to really look at Regina and ask her genuinely, "Are you alright, sis? Truly? I know you said you were fine, but Ophelia was here, and I'm guessing this is what has you looking like you need to buy stock in Visine?"

Regina waves a hand dismissively, assuring her, "I'm fine. Really, truly."

Zelena lifts her brows doubtfully, and Regina lets loose a sigh, and explains, "Leo and I decided to keep it between us until after the holidays, so talking to Robin today was the first time I really got to _talk_ about it. It just dredged up some feelings, that's all. But I had a good cry about it, and now I'm fine."

"If you're sure…"

"I am. I promise." And she _is_ , but she'd thought she was this morning at the coffee shop, too, and look how that had turned out. So in the interest of keeping her traitorous emotions at bay, Regina changes the subject: "Now, tell me everything I need to know about this Trevor…"


	3. December 24

They won't speak again until Boxing Day, but he sees her on Christmas Eve. There are services, of course, and it's expected that everyone in town will show their face at some point, either for the Christmas morning services, or the smaller Christmas Eve service the night before. Robin prefers the Eve – it's a smaller crowd, more intimate, somehow more personal. And he rather enjoys the way they end the service by dimming the lights and singing "Silent Night" in the glow of the candles carefully lit from person to person.

Regina prefers the Eve too, he knows, but she'll be here for both services regardless. Her mother will attend both of them as a matter of good publicity, and Robin knows that Ophelia has the coveted role of a heralding angel in their morning service's Christmas pageant. He can't imagine Regina will miss that.

Tonight, he's sat six rows behind her and a ways to the left, near the end of a row in a spot Ruby and Granny have saved for him, as per usual. They'd done it first the year of Marian's passing, when he wasn't sure if he'd make the services at all, too bogged down in his grief. She'd loved the candlelight closing as well, his Marian, and he'd thought the whole thing would just remind him too much of her.

Maybe that year he'd go in the morning, he'd said to Ruby from one of the diner's barstools a few days before Christmas.

She'd shrugged, and said that made sense, adding entirely too nonchalantly that there'd probably be more people who'd want to see him at the morning service anyway.

That had given Robin pause – he'd known she was probably right, that the morning services would be full of people telling him how good it was to see him, how they hoped he was still managing to have a Merry Christmas on this first one without her, how much they missed her usual spice cookies in the fellowship hall after services.

"Maybe I'll stick with the Eve after all," he'd muttered into his coffee, and Ruby had smirked and promised to save him a seat. He'd expected to find her and Granny in their usual prime aisle spots when he'd shown up at the chapel a scant three minutes before the service was set to begin, but he'd been wrong – they'd taken seats on the far aisle this time, leaving a spot at the very end open for him.

"In case you need to duck out," Ruby had told him (with sympathy, but not pity, and for that he'd always been grateful to her), and for the first time in quite a while he'd felt a little bit of warmth seep back into his bones.

Ever since then, it had been tradition, the three of them here on Christmas Eve, taking up the last three spots on the left side of the sixth row.

He'd spent that Christmas Eve service focusing on anything he could but the service itself – mostly the people, this town he'd been so warmly adopted into, the one he'd been debating if he had stomach enough to remain in without Marian.

And for a long, long stretch of that service, he'd stared at _her_. Regina, in the same spot she is right now. Front pew as always, just beside her mother. It had been her husband on her other side, then, and her father beside her mother. Two matching sets of ill-matched spouses, sitting dutifully together to keep up appearances.

This year, Ophelia sits to her right instead, her red hair plaited into a crown around her head (something he has a distinct recollection of watching her attempt to do again and again without much success, in the corner booth at Granny's not even a month ago; she seems to have gotten the hang of it now, though – or she'd gotten help from a certain visiting aunt). Zelena is on the other side, completing the family.

He remembers them that year, too. Ophelia had been young then, only just four, and squirrely as preschoolers so often are. Zelena had kept her in the back, where it was easier to take her out if she got rowdy, and of course she had.

Robin had found them in the church's front lobby when he'd ducked out himself a good ten minutes before the end of the service. They were bearing down on "Silent Night," and suddenly he hadn't been sure if he could bear it, his heart weighing heavier and heavier, grief squeezing vice-like around it.

He'd slipped up the side aisle, in search of a bit of fresh air – or at the very least, a place to shed a tear in private – and there they'd been. Ophelia in a green velvet Christmas dress, her hair a riot of ringlets back then, chattering away to her exhausted-looking mother about Santa Claus and presents and if she could maybe have just one more cookie before bed.

She'd been oblivious to the quiet reverence of the service going on in the sanctuary, just as she'd been oblivious to Robin's darkening mood when she'd noticed him coming through the doors. She wriggled out of Zelena's hold and barrelled at him with all the excitement of a child with a new toy – not far off, considering she'd only had her mother for entertainment for the last little while.

He'd been more than happy for the distraction of gappy baby teeth, and freckles, and giggling, rambling recitations of a story he'd come to find out was a liberally adapted retelling of _Frosty the Snowman_. She'd seen it for the first time just that evening, and spent quite a bit of time telling Robin all about top hats, and parades through town, and something very sad about a greenhouse and it being hot.

It hadn't made much sense, but it had been the greatest story ever told as far as he was concerned.

He hadn't even noticed when the low chorus of voices began inside, hadn't had time to feel that gnawing ache in his middle over the first candlelight processional without his wife.

He's had a soft spot for Ophelia Mills ever since.

He watches tonight, as she leans over and whispers something to Regina, making her aunt turn and grin at her. It's just the right angle to have Regina's profile suddenly starkly defined by the glowing lights all around, and Robin feels his heart skip that beat again.

The holidays always remind him of Regina, for better or worse. There are simply too many memories of this season tied up around her for it not to.

This year, though, there's no heaviness to the thought of her. Not from his end, anyway. She's melancholy, and understandably so, but Robin, well… Robin is just glad to see her. All too glad to spend an evening half-listening to passages from Luke while he studies the way the light glints off the dark coffee color of her hair, or the way she gets a sharp elbow from Cora when she and Ophelia giggle to each other again. (They both sober up and sit straighter, but Robin sees Regina's shoulders shake once more, an aftershock of mirth that ripples over into Ophelia, too.)

He must have been staring for longer than he realizes, because Ruby leans over to whisper in his ear, "Is it too soon to ask her out?"

Robin tries valiantly to stifle his snorted laugh in response, shaking his head and muttering in reply, "I think it's customary to wait for the ink to dry, yeah."

She shrugs and straightens back up, and Robin tells himself to focus on something other than the back of Regina Mills' head for the rest of the service.

When it comes time for their "Silent Night," it goes as always, row by row. The first candle lit from one on the altar, and then brought down to that first row, where the light is passed from neighbor to neighbor in anticipation of the coming light of the Christ child. And then as each row is finished, they head up the center aisle and out into that front lobby, out into the night.

He watches Regina again, then, watches her shield her flame carefully with her free hand and the way the candlelight dances over her face. He can see the red of her dress through her open coat, festive with some sort of metallic flecks glittering slightly in the candlelight.

She passes by without seeing him, and he wonders if she's at all aware of his precise presence at the Christmas Eve services the way he so often is of hers.

When the candlelight reaches their row, he lights his flame from Ruby's, and then turns to give light to Belle just behind him before he waits for their row to filter out of the pew.

Regina is there in the lobby when he emerges, making small talk with her mother and Dr. Hopper. She smiles at the man, and it's pinched, half-assed. Robin watches her speak, makes out her, _Thank you, but I'm doing fine_ , and pities her for having to spend her whole holiday break talking about the end of her marriage.

And then she looks up, over, and catches him staring. For a moment their eyes lock, and her smile softens, fills her face, her eyes, with warmth, and Robin can't help but grin at the sight.

He lifts a hand in greeting, and she does the same before mouthing, _Merry Christmas._

Robin says it back, aloud, but quiet enough that she can't hear from a half-dozen feet away, "Merry Christmas, Regina."

And then Cora is tugging at her attention again, and Ruby is ducking an arm through his and dragging him over to say hello to Leroy and Astrid.

When he looks for her again, Regina has already gone.


	4. December 26

_**Author's Note:** Sorry for the day's delay on this - FFnet was having issues and not allowing new documents to be uploaded._

* * *

The Storybrooke Winter Festival has always been one of Regina's favorite parts of Christmas.

There's something about the little open-air stalls, all lined up in rows on the lawn of the Town Hall, selling everything from Zelena's pies and jams, to Marco's woodwork, to hand-knitted scarves, and hats, and mittens, and carefully stitched quilts. Jewelry from a local silversmith, and local brews from the owner of the Rabbit Hole, who makes her own special microbrew just for the festival. Every year, there's a raffle for a year's worth of free breakfasts at Granny's Diner, drawn at the end of the night on the day after Christmas (Leroy had won last year, so Regina is sure Granny is looking forward to a new winner this year – preferably someone who won't eat a week's supply of bacon on one Sunday morning), and another on New Year's Eve for a free weekend stay in one of her rooms.

There's face painting, and mulled cider, and hot cocoa, and fairy lights strung all along the lanes in little hanging arcs across the footpath.

It's familiar, and homey, and… quaint.

D.C.'s Holiday Market may be larger, with a more coveted selection of gifts to peruse, but Regina would take the little festival in her hometown any day.

And it beats the hell out of another night in the house with Mother.

Christmas had been… fine. Good, even. Regina had slept in late on Christmas Eve morning, after spending much of the night before lying awake and staring at the ceiling, all-too-aware of the coolness of the sheets to her left and missing her electric blanket.

She'd nodded off, finally, well after midnight, and with the curtains tightly drawn she'd slept half the morning away before stumbling sleepily downstairs for coffee and one of the cranberry orange muffins she'd brought home from her baking fest with Zelena the day before.

Zelena and Ophelia had come for lunch and stayed the rest of the afternoon, so she'd managed to avoid The Talk with Mother for another day – for once, she'd seemed to be willing to avoid an embarrassing conversation for the sake of company.

And then there had been the evening service, and the usual Christmas Eve tradition of sprinkling glitter-flecked oats over the back porch rail to "feed Santa's reindeer" before reading _The Night Before Christmas_ all cuddled up together on the couch. There's not a soul in the house who believes in Santa or flying reindeer, but the magic of Christmas is something Ophelia hasn't yet outgrown, and she insists that it's not Christmas if they don't sprinkle oats for a make-believe Rudolph.

Mother thinks it's ridiculous; Mother can suck it.

The way things are going, Ophelia may be the only child this family will ever have, and as soon as she grows out of the whimsy and wonder, they'll be stuck with nothing but terse conversation and too much Merlot. So Regina embraces the little things wholeheartedly, tossing an extra handful of oats near Mother's long-empty planters for every annoyed utterance she makes, dumping a criminal amount of mini-marshmallows in both hers and Ophelia's cups, and always bringing a few extra little gifts and treats to top off everyone's stockings.

If she wanted Christmas to be free of festivity and soaked in expensive spirits, she'd be in St. Barts with Leo, thinking about how odd it is to cover imported pine trees in starfish and seashells and far too much turquoise and gold, all the while listening to "Let It Snow!" like that somehow counteracts the bikini weather.

No, she'd much rather be here, covering Mother's back porch in enough Quaker Oats and edible glitter to feed all the neighborhood deer, all the early morning cardinals, whispering stories about sugarplums to children just a little too old to believe them.

She'd rather have Christmas morning pancakes poured into snowman shapes and dusted with powdered sugar snow, and watch all of Storybrooke's elementary and middle schoolers retell the same Christmas story they've told every year, with the same slightly off-key, out-of-sync renditions of "Away In A Manger" and "Come On, Ring Those Bells."

And maybe the chef-prepared lunch in the all-inclusive ocean-view villa would be less stressful than trying to cook a roast, and potatoes, and Parker House rolls, and far too many sides to feed only four people, all under her Mother's watchful (clucking) eye, but it would feel far less like the holidays ought to.

She doesn't envy him, down there on the beach by himself.

Not yesterday while she was eating that (delicious, if she does say so herself) beef roast, and not today, while she strolls into the little winter festival with a very-excited-but-trying-not-to-look-very-excited twelve-year-old.

It is most _definitely_ a date.

If she hadn't known by the giddy energy pumping off Ophelia the moment she'd shut herself into Regina's car, she'd have known by the way she batted her eyes and begged to be allowed to borrow her auntie's makeup, or at the very _least_ some mascara and lipstick, because her own mother was being _ridiculous_ and wouldn't let her wear any at all.

Regina knew better than to offer up her waterproof mascara (no hiding that one), but she did reach into her Birkin and fish out a ruby-tinted lip balm – nothing crazy, just enough to add a tiny hint of color.

And then Ophelia had wanted to trade scarves, had wanted to borrow the cashmere Burberry one that Leo had gifted Regina that last year in St. Barts (she'd remembered thinking it was beautiful, but ludicrous to open something so luxurious and cozy while she was in dressed in shorts). Regina had just laughed, shaking her head and unwinding it from around her neck, swapping it for Ophelia's chunky hand-knit one.

Regina had helped her arrange it, helped her tuck the ends in just so, her fingers brushing over the initials monogrammed on one edge – RVM. Thank God she'd never changed her name.

And then, finally in her finery, Ophelia had been ready to go.

They're to meet this Trevor at the entrance farthest from Zelena's stall of goods (no surprise there), and as they stand there, fifteen minutes early, Ophelia turns to her and says, "Okay, when we see him, be cool," in a way that nearly makes Regina laugh out loud.

So much for the little girl giggling over sugarplums and reindeer food.

"I won't embarrass you, I promise," Regina assures. "I'm just here to make sure you two don't end up kissing behind the ice sculpture."

Ophelia makes a face and scolds, " _Auntie!_ "

Regina just shrugs. "I was twelve once, too, you know. And there were plenty of very cute boys back then, too."

Ophelia opens her mouth to respond, but before she does, she catches sight of something beyond Regina's shoulder and her eyes pop wide, a little squeak making its way out of her.

Regina grins knowingly and reaches out to adjust that scarf ever so slightly, teasing, "Be cool," and then murmuring warmly, "And just be yourself. Remember – he's here because he likes you."

Ophelia nods, and waves, and Regina turns in time to see Trevor. All she can think is that preteen boys look very young, much like preteen girls, and this whole little date is incredibly _cute_.

He's not very tall, she's pretty sure Ophelia might just clear him by a few centimeters, but it's hard to tell with the little pom on the top of her hat next to Trevor's slouchy beanie. He has that look of someone whose features aren't quite growing in pace with each other – his nose is just a little too big, but he'll grow into it, and his hair just a little too long under that hat, but that's the style these days, isn't it?

He's polite at least, reaching out to shake Regina's hand after Ophelia makes introductions, gripping it a little _too_ hard and telling her, "Thanks for coming with us tonight. Ophelia said you're really cool, and it was either we get stuck with you or we get stuck with my brother Mikey, and he's…" Trevor shakes his head and finishes, "Really not someone I want to have following me around all night."

Regina laughs, all too familiar with having an older sibling hovering around while you're trying to be cool. "Well, I'm happy to be the one you got 'stuck with,'" she tells him, pleased at the little flicker of fear that crosses his face when he realizes just how that had come out. "And all I ask is that you stay where I can see you at all times."

"Really?" Ophelia asks, her eyes lighting up "We don't have to stay, like, _with you_ with you?"

"You do not," Regina confirms before warning, "But if I lose sight of that red head of yours for even a minute, I'm telling your mother every single detail of your evening, young lady."

"I promise!" Ophelia swears, thoroughly horrified by the threat, judging by her appearance.

"Me too," Trevor agrees, and with the ground rules set, the evening begins.

"Good," Regina nods, jerking her chin toward the nearest stall. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to stop for some cider. It's my favorite, and I'm cold already."

Ophelia pipes up with a _Sounds good to me!_ , and Trevor insists, "Cider's on me. My dad gave me some money."

Regina raises her brows slightly, giving him a little nod of approval and gesturing toward the stall in question with an invitation to, "Lead the way, then."

He's sucking up – as he should be, as far as Regina is concerned. She's all for equality between the sexes, but there's still such a thing as chivalry, and she will absolutely allow this boy to buy her a two-dollar hot cup of spiced cider to prove he knows how to treat a woman right.

Besides, he tells the man ladling it into insulated paper cups, "Two ciders for the ladies, and one for me, please," with such confidence she can't bear to offer him a reprieve on paying for hers.

The cider is warm and fragrant, flooding warmth down her throat and into her chest in a way that makes her close her eyes for a moment and hum softly.

"Best cider in the whole country," she declares, before thanking Trevor for treating.

"No problem," he says, smirking smugly in a way that feels somehow familiar and yet not at all. "It was my pleasure, Mrs. Mills."

 _Miss,_ she itches to correct – but she doesn't. Instead she just smiles, nodding her permission and reminding, "Where I can see you," when Ophelia asks if they can go look at the candles in the stall across the row while Regina finishes her cider. It's an utterly transparent request – Regina is going to be sipping on this cider until it runs out or goes cold, and they all know it – but she's promised them their freedom, and Ophelia is wasting absolutely no time in taking her up on it.

So Regina hovers near the cider booth, turning just enough to keep the kids in view but not enough to be staring blatantly as she sips and takes in the ambience. She's been sipping for a good five minutes, half-watching the way Ophelia giggles and grins at this boy as they talk about candles of all things (and they _are_ talking about them, Trevor keeps picking them up and sniffing them, and handing them to Ophelia to do the same), when she hears a familiar voice at her ear:

"You know," Robin teases, "If you'd like to go look at the candles, I do think they'll let you."

Regina chuckles, turning to look at him, and oh, yes, that's where she knows that smug look from: Robin wears it all the damn time when he thinks he's being _cute_.

"I'm not admiring the candles," she tells him, not bothering with a proper greeting since he hadn't either. She gestures with her cup and tells him, "I'm chaperoning."

Robin follows her gaze, his mouth dropping open slightly when he recognizes the back of Ophelia's head, and the boy standing right next to her, holding another candle for her to sniff.

"Who's that wanker talking to Ophelia?" he asks, with just enough edge that she knows he's joking.

Which is good, because she barks out a laugh immediately, one hand rising to clap over her mouth to stifle it as she shakes her head at him. "His name is Trevor," she tells him, once she's recovered, "And he seems very sweet. He bought me a cider."

"Damn right he did," Robin mutters. "You can't take a lady to the winter fest without buying her a drink to keep warm." Regina hums her agreement, and Robin continues, "And I see she's borrowed your accessories for the evening, too."

"Mm, she wanted to look a little more grown-up, I think," Regina says, as Robin turns to order a mulled cider of his own. "Borrowed some lip gloss, too."

Robin jerks his head around toward her and grouses, "Well, she'd better not be using it to kiss that boy; she's too young."

"Oh, honestly," Regina scoffs. "Between you and my sister, you'd think Phee was eight years old."

"Is she not anymore?" he teases, and Regina rolls her eyes.

Trevor and Ophelia are slowly making their way to the next stall, this one boasting an array of kitschy little ornaments, all marked down to half-off now that the holiday has officially passed. Regina follows behind, heading for the candles herself – it's easier to keep the kids in sight when they're to her side rather than her back, after all.

Robin follows, asking, "You don't mind if I tag along, do you? I was rather bored at home, so thought I might come down and check out the post-Christmas sales, get a jump on next year's shopping."

Regina smirks; of course he is.

She tells him, "Not at all. In fact, I'm glad for the company. It'll make me feel less like I'm stalking them."

"In that case, I think I'd better go – a good stalking by an overbearing aunt is exactly what a young man needs to keep himself in line."

"Since when am I 'overbearing'?" she questions, making sure to look suitably offended by the slight.

"'Bossy,' then," Robin shrugs, and what a jerk. He knows damn well she can't argue that one. "But my point stands."

"He's twelve," Regina snorts, picking up a candle labeled _Forest Pine_ and taking a good whiff. It smells like evergreens, and maybe a hint of citrus. Not bad. Woodsy. Robin would probably like it, she thinks, holding it out to invite him to sniff it himself as she says, "I really don't think his intentions are so impure that he needs to be stalked into behaving."

Robin leans over to smell the candle, his mouth dipping into an interested little frown before he lifts it from her fingertips, taking another sniff and flipping it over to look for a price as he tells her, "I happen to know that Trevor Marley is in fact not twelve, but thirteen – and only that for three more months. Then he'll be _fourteen_ , and far too old for Ophelia, if you ask me."

Regina narrows her eyes, mocking, " _'Who's that boy talking to Ophelia?'_ You knew exactly who he was, you liar."

"I did not," Robin argues. "I hadn't caught sight of his face yet."

"Mm," Regina hums doubtfully. "But you _do_ know him."

"I do," Robin confirms; Regina reaches for another candle, lavender and sage this time, lifting it and breathing in the sweet scent and frigid air in tandem. "He hangs around the shop a lot in the summer. He likes to fish. So I guess they have that in common."

Regina looks up again at that, her brow furrowing. "Phee likes fish?"

"She likes pulling them from the end of a hook and cleaning them for dinner, I can tell you that much. Far be it for me to sound sexist, but I've never seen a young girl so delighted to rip something's guts out."

"Since when?" Regina questions; she's not sure she's ever seen Ophelia so much as hold a fishing rod. Or at least, not since Daddy was alive.

"She asked me to teach her this summer. I figured she'd just run out of things to do in this town," Robin tells her, continuing, "But after tonight, I'm guessing her interest piqued when she set her sights on that kid."

Right. Life goes on without her here. People grow, they change. Robin sees more of her niece than she does; sometimes it's easy to forget that.

Still, "I doubt that," she tells him, taking the apple-scented candle he offers her and giving it a sniff. It's nice, but nothing special. "Ophelia isn't exactly a patient girl; I can't imagine she's had a crush on him since the summer and is only managing to go on a little date with him now."

"Maybe," he shrugs. She catches him glancing at her with a hint of caution, a little hesitation, and then he says quietly, "She talks about your dad sometimes. Says he used to take her fishing when your mum and Zelena were having a row."

She smiles, softly, appreciating the kid gloves even though they're unnecessary. Losing her father had been a crushing blow, had filled this town with even more painful reminders than losing Daniel had. But Daddy had been… well, not old, but not young, either. The heart attack had been sudden and shocking, but it didn't seem as senselessly unfair as a careening drunk on a Thursday night.

Daddy, she's been able to grieve, to hold close without always feeling burned by the embers of memory. It had taken a decade and a half to get there with Daniel.

"Yeah, he liked to do that," she says warmly. "He used to take me out on the boat, too, when Mother was in one of her moods. But I always liked the boat more than the fishing."

"Mm, I remember," he nods. "Daniel and I went that one summer, but you didn't. He said you couldn't stand to watch the fish gasping. It made you sad."

She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Maybe it was getting my lip split open as a child, I don't know, but at some point I became far too sympathetic to the fact that we were ripping them up into that boat by a hook stuck through their mouths. And I asked my dad once why their mouths moved that way when they were out of the water, and he said it was because they breathe water, not air, and…" She shudders a little, reaching blindly for a candle and lifting it. "It just turned me off."

The candle is overly-sweet; she grimaces and reads the label: birthday cake. Ugh. No wonder.

She drops it as Robin teases, "And yet, I've seen you wolf down a fish and chips platter like the best of them," and passes her the one he'd been holding.

It's sandalwood, and she shuts her eyes to savor it for half a second.

Then she opens them and shrugs, saying, "As long as I don't have to look them in the eye, I'm good."

He chuckles, shaking his head at her and asking, "Do you like that one?"

"The candle?" she asks, and he nods. "I do. It's nice."

Robin nods resolutely and declares, "Then it's yours," taking it from her and setting it on top of that forest-smelling one he's had resting just in front of him on the table since he set it down.

"You don't have to do that," Regina insists. "I can—"

"Nonsense," Robin waves her off, telling her, "It's Christmas and I didn't get you anything," as he waves to the woman working the booth and sets his cider down long enough to fish some cash from his wallet.

"I didn't get you anything either," she points out, reaching one-handed into her pocket for her wallet, too.

He must see her do it, because he tells the woman sternly, "Don't take any of her money; this is a gift." Regina huffs, and rolls her eyes, smirking at him when he adds, "And I guess now you'll just have to owe me one."

"Oh, I will, will I?" she questions as the candles are tucked into two separate gift bags, by Robin's request (she takes a small amount of pride in knowing he'd want that first candle for himself), then handed back over to them.

"Mmhmm," Robin insists smugly, passing one bag to her and looping the other over his wrist before he picks up his cider again and ushers her away from the booth.

She has a witty retort ready to go (or she's thinking of one, at least) when she realizes that Ophelia and Trevor are no longer at the booth beside them. Regina scowls, irritation and a slight hint of panic (Zelena will _kill_ her if she loses track of her daughter tonight) ticking up in her chest as she searches the nearby stalls.

It's a short-lived sensation, though – she spots that black pompom on top of Ophelia's head only two stalls down on the other side. Still within view, as promised.

Regina lets out a relieved breath, muttering, "I should've lojacked her."

Robin chuckles, his hand pressing lightly to her back as they weave through a little knot of people huddled around those half-price ornaments. "Am I distracting you from your duties?"

"No," she tells him, but then she realizes, "Well, yes. But I told them they only had to stay within view, and I can see them from here, so they're not exactly misbehaving. Just giving me a minor heart attack."

"Maybe we should add a little whiskey to the cider, settle your nerves a bit," he teases, and she can tell from the way he's grinning at her that said whiskey is no-doubt somewhere on his person at the moment.

And as tempting as it is…

"Not while I'm on babysitting duty," she sighs, pouting a little in disappointment. "I have to drive later, and I won't drink and drive her."

Robin knows exactly why, so he doesn't push. Just tells her, "Some other time, then."

Her smile spreads, her head bobbing once, before she tells him on a whim, "I'll owe you one – before I leave town, I promise."

Because these two impromptu run-ins with him have been a highlight of her week, and quite frankly, she'd like to see more of him.

She has a feeling the sentiment is mutual when he bites his bottom lip in a way she's always found far too sexy for someone she wasn't allowed to find attractive, and tells her, "I'll hold you to that."

 **.::.**

He probably shouldn't flirt so shamelessly with her.

Really, he shouldn't.

She's only just freshly divorced (but then, she did say that the marriage had been long over before it ended, did she not?), and the last thing she needs over her holiday is to fend off some over-eager hometown friend who can't help but make advances. But then, he's not really making _advances_ , is he? Just flirting. Just banter. Just casual conversation between friends.

They've done this sort of thing for years – teasing each other, needling and joking and making each other laugh or roll their eyes or rise to take some form or other of bait.

They've just never done it before when they were both single. Well, once. That one Christmas, in London, when she'd been studying abroad and he'd been briefly split from Marian and spent the holiday in England instead of here. And that had ended with them both naked and breathless, so can he really be blamed for wanting to flirt a bit and see where it all goes?

(Yes, he thinks. He can be. She's newly divorced, he shouldn't take advantage just because it's been ages since he's been with a woman, and years since he's been with anyone who makes him light up inside the way she does.)

He tells himself to rein it in just a little, and steers their conversation toward safer topics like how their Christmases were spent (her with her family, him with Ruby and Granny – the closest thing he has to family in this town, now), and the gifts they'd given and received. He puts his foot in his mouth for a moment, asks if Santa brought her another Birkin this year, when he knows very well that it had been her now-ex and not Santa. But she smiles gamely, and says that no, Santa is on holiday this year, by all appearances.

"But one of his elves did sneak a Miner's Day candle in my stocking, so let it never be said my mother has no Christmas spirit," she teases.

Robin scoffs and shakes his head. "She's such a Grinch. Might as well have given you coal."

"Well, I'm sure she had to come up with _something_ to do with a plain beeswax pillar, and I doubt she could have pawned it off on Zelena – knowing my sister, she bought herself a dozen."

How true.

Regina shrugs a little, her shoulder bumping his lightly on accident, and adds, "But truth be told, I don't mind. They're decent candles, and it'll be a little bit of home when I go back to D.C."

The thought makes him feel a little twist of pre-emptive sadness he has absolutely no rights to – they may be friends, but they've not been what he'd call _close_ friends in a very long while. Although come to think of it, that may be what makes her absences so depressing. He knows full well that if history repeats, she'll head home and he'll not hear from her for weeks at best, maybe months. Not until he sees a book he thinks she'd like, or she comes across a new band she wants him to hear, or something one of them sees jogs a memory of the other.

And even then, it's only ever a text or two. Just pleasantries. Just an occasional comment on the other's Facebook posts, or something equally banal.

They can talk for ages, no problem, but he and Regina have never made great pen pals.

So he doesn't like to think of her heading home, alone, to that apartment that makes her cry, with just a fat pillar candle to keep her company. It's depressing.

He'd like to keep her right here in town where he can bump into her getting coffee, or where he can imagine she might wander into his shop someday looking for, who knows, a tent for a campout with her niece or something.

Speaking of her niece, Regina seems to have lost sight of her again, if the way she's glancing around suddenly is any indication. But Robin has been keeping a close eye since that first time they lost the lovebirds ever-so-briefly, and so he points her in the right direction: "Raffle booth."

She squints two stalls down, nods her satisfaction at spying Ophelia safe and sound, and then says, "I think we should go pay them a little visit. See how things are going."

"I think that sounds like a fine plan," Robin agrees, and so they're off, picking up the pace a little bit to catch up to the kids.

It's not that Robin doesn't like Trevor – he does, quite a lot – it's simply that he's been a teenage boy before and he's too fond of Ophelia to let her spend her evening with a boy who is boring or boorish. So he has absolutely no qualms about walking right up to them and slinging an arm around Trevor's shoulders, greeting them both with a, "Well, if it isn't two of my favorite kids."

Ophelia goes deeper red under cheeks already pink from cold, looking to Regina for help with desperate, wide eyes that almost make Robin feel bad for interrupting their little date so abruptly.

Almost.

Regina is absolutely no help to the girl; she only shrugs and smiles and says, "Robin wanted to come say hi."

Trevor doesn't seem at all bothered to have a moment's company, offering a cheerful, "Hey, Robin. You guys on a date, too?"

Now it's Regina's eyes that go wide, Robin's brows rising as he turns to smile at her, before assuring the boy, "No, we're not. Regina and I are old friends, we're catching up." Then he glances at the booth in front of them and decides, "And buying raffle tickets," telling the teenager manning the booth, "I'll take four."

"You are _not_ buying my raffle tickets, too," Regina insists, stepping up a little closer and pulling her wallet from her pocket with determination.

"You're right, I'm not," Robin assures her, letting his arm drop from Trevor's shoulder (but not without mussing the boys hat a bit; he huffs about it, and adjusts it anxiously while Robin has the good grace to block him from view by reaching across to pay for his tickets). "These are all mine; I want that free breakfast."

"Me, too!" Trevor insists, his hat apparently back in place as he says, "Three for me, please Ophelia, one of those is for you, okay?"

"Two," Robin mutters to him out of the side of his mouth. Trevor frowns.

"Huh?"

" _Two_ are hers, you ninny," he mutters more pointedly. "You're on a bloody date; treat the girl."

"I already bought her cider, and a candle, and a little ornament at—"

"The ornaments are half-off—"

"We're only halfway through the fair," Trevor hisses, their conversation now sheltered by the subtle angling of Robin's back between him and the ladies. "I'm gonna run out of money."

"So she gets two, and you get one – it's a first date, make a good impression."

"But… bacon."

He says it with such innocent disappointment that Robin can't help but laugh, dropping his head in closer and chuckling, "If you play your cards right on the first date, I'd wager she'll share her free bacon with you, son."

The thought seems never to have occurred to poor Trevor, whose brow knits with consideration all of a sudden.

"And if it's the money you're worried about," Robin sweetens the pot, "I'll spot you the five dollars."

That seems to seal the deal, Trevor piping up, "Actually, I want four, too! _Two_ for Phee, and two for me, please."

When Robin steps back and turns, he finds Regina watching him, shaking her head and trying not to laugh.

Robin just shrugs, and subtly slips a five dollar bill into Trevor's pocket while Ophelia is distracted by writing her name and phone number on the back of her raffle tickets.

It takes them all a minute to fill everything out – Robin's four tickets, and Trevor's two, plus the two he bought Ophelia _and_ the one Regina had given her. She'd bought only one for herself, arguing, "I'm not here often enough to take advantage of the free breakfast, and if I used the B&B stay, Madam Mayor would—"

She catches herself, realizes she's about to say whatever it was in front of Trevor, and amends to, "...be disappointed not to have her daughter staying with her."

"I hope you win the B&B stay," Ophelia tells her, making Regina's smile crack and bleed in places when she adds, "That way you'd have an excuse to come visit me – no matter what Grandma says about you staying with her."

Regina's "I don't need an excuse, sweetheart," is a little strained, and he watches as she reaches over and gives the girl's arm a squeeze before promising, "I'm going to come home more often now, I swear. Maybe I can come in February, for my birthday. It beats spending it alone at home."

Ophelia brightens, straightening up and telling her aunt excitedly, "I could make your birthday cake! I've gotten really good at cake."

"If they're anything like your pies, that might be the best thing I get for my birthday," Regina praises, and Ophelia puffs up like a proud little peacock. "Now, why don't you two go… see what's over at Marco's booth, hmm?"

It's a dismissal, setting them free from their chaperones again, and they take it gladly, scampering off together across the way and leaving him alone with Regina again.

She deflates immediately, their happy mood from earlier thoroughly popped, when she confesses, "I hate when she says things like that. I've missed so much; I know it. I…" She's had her head ducked down, but she lifts it again, staring off after her niece, and Robin can see the shimmer of tears on her lashes as she presses her lips together. They're gone as quickly as they surfaced, Regina sucking in a breath and letting it out, and then, "I should have left him sooner. Maybe if it was just me, I'd have been here more, maybe—"

"Doesn't change anything," he cuts off, because she'll only drag herself down on a spiral of useless what-ifs. Regina frowns up at him, and he repeats himself, "Maybes don't change anything. So don't go there."

"I can't help it," she mutters, glancing up behind him at the booth they're still standing awfully close to.

Robin leads her a few steps further away, to a little gap between two stalls, a little path that leads back toward the porta-potties nobody is desperate enough to use when it's so God-awful cold outside.

"I could have had—" she starts again, but then she pauses, and shakes her head, says, "I feel like I wasted so much time I could have spent doing what I wanted, instead of what _we_ wanted. Which isn't really fair to him; he wasn't controlling, or… anything like that."

"Marriage is full of compromises," Robin says, because he knows. He's been there, too. "You want, and I want, and somewhere in the middle, you find what works for the both of you. It's not always easy, but it's worth it, usually."

"'Usually' being the key word," she grumbles, sipping agitatedly at the last of her cider, now certainly gone tepid if not cold. There's a trashcan nearby, and she pitches the empty cup in its direction (it biffs off the edge a bit, but she sinks it nonetheless), then crosses her arms over her chest. "But then it all ends, and suddenly it's years of compromising you could have avoided if you'd just been smart enough to walk away from something comfortable but wrong."

Robin's not entirely sure what to say to that, how to comfort her, and in the time he takes to figure it out, she's glancing over at him again and saying, "I'm sorry; I shouldn't be unloading on you. It's Christmas."

"Screw Christmas," Robin tells her. "Unload all you want, that's what friends are for."

She smiles a little at that, but doesn't do more than sigh. And maybe he should just let it drop, just change the subject to something more jovial and festive, but it's clearly on her mind. And the last thing he wants is for her to think that whatever she's going through right now is a bother.

So he chances encouraging her to open up even more by asking, "What's your biggest regret? The thing you wish you'd been able to do your way, and didn't get to."

Her gaze strays across the way again, finding Ophelia and Trevor giggling over carved mice or something, and she says softly, "I wanted kids. I don't think I wanted them for the right reasons, when I wanted them, but… I always wanted to be a mom."

"What were your reasons?"

She ducks her head a little at that, tilting it just so to hide her face a bit, but he can still hear her when she admits, "I was lonely, and something was missing. Our marriage felt… stagnant. I had this sort of… hole… in my chest. This _yearning_ for something. I should have just left, then. You can't have kids to save your marriage, it's not… fair."

He can't say he disagrees with that, but, "I always thought you'd have kids. I always figured one of these trips you'd come home, bursting with good news, and I'd be terribly jealous."

Her brow knits at that, her head tilting curiously to one side. "I was sure the two of you would. You both loved kids."

"We did," he nods. "But after her mom passed – well, after we got married, once we started talking about maybe someday… She had the genetic test done." Regina's face pinches in sympathy, and he knows he doesn't have to say anymore. She can put two and two together to make four. But he finds he doesn't mind sharing personal things with her, even here amid the bustle of the post-holiday crowd. "She was positive, BRCA1 mutation, fifty-fifty chance of passing it on, and she didn't want…" He shakes his head, and sighs, and says, "She didn't want to give that to a child. And I said that was fine, that we'd adopt, we'd find a way. And for a while, that was the plan – the eventual, down-the-road plan. And then one day she told me she didn't want to anymore. She was afraid she'd die young like her mum, and she didn't want to leave me behind with a child. We decided we'd talk about it again, later, in a year or two, maybe. But then she got sick, so… that solved that conversation."

"I'm sorry," Regina tells him, sincerely, reaching over and linking her fingers with his, giving them a tight squeeze.

"She was right," he tells her, a familiar ache in his chest, the same as every time he thinks of all the little parts of his life with Marian that were stolen by illness and death. "I don't think I could have done it without her. I don't know how I'd have carried on with her gone, with a child."

"You would have," Regina tells him quietly, her fingers tightening over his again. "You have a big heart, and you're strong, loyal. Maybe she was right, but you'd have been a great dad, either way. I know it."

Her voice is quiet, but sure, full of an unshakeable sort of faith in him that makes him _feel_ something, right in his middle. His throat tightens for a moment, but he swallows down against it, clears it slightly and asks, "So how about you? You wanted, and he didn't?"

She frowns a little, one brow lifting and falling in derision. "In the end, yeah. But it took us a long time to get there. We tried for about a year, and… nothing. So, we went to the doctor, did all the tests, and found out that it was me. I... can't."

"Oh…" Well, now he just feels like an asshole. He'd thought he'd been about to hear another story about how Leo was a selfish old gasbag, not… this. "I'm sorry; I didn't know."

"Nobody does," she tells him with a brittle little smile that is not at all a smile. He wonders how many other things there are in her life that nobody knows, private aches that she keeps close and doesn't share. Wonders why she's sharing them with him now, but he's not going to argue it. "We didn't tell anyone – not even our families. I wanted to wait until we had _good_ news to share; silly me." That smile flickers again, full of more self-loathing than he'd ever care to see on her, and she continues, "They gave us options – adoption, IVF, the usual. Leo had reservations about adoption – it can take a while, it's expensive; whatever the reasons were the first time we talked about it, I don't remember exactly. I just know we decided IVF was the better option for us."

She looks down, finds something suddenly very interesting near the toe of her boot as she says so quietly he almost can't hear her, "We did one round, and… it failed. I failed—" She looks up, then, suddenly, insistent when she says, "I know that _I_ didn't— But it felt that way. I was the one keeping us from getting pregnant, and going through all of that and still getting another 'no' was… awful. They tell you the percentages, and what to expect, the odds of failure, but when it happens, it's still awful."

"I can't imagine," he murmurs, his heart aching for her. He wants to draw her in closer, wants to wrap her up in a hug but it doesn't seem the right moment. Wants at the very least to be having this conversation on a warm sofa, in the privacy of one of their homes, and not freezing their toes off at the winter festival.

But here they are, so here they'll have it. Robin steps closer to her, until their arms are touching; he tells himself it's for warmth as much as privacy, but he knows better. He just wants to be _there_ for her, in whatever way he can.

"I was heartbroken. And emotionally exhausted. And we did it again."

Robin's heart clenches; his hand, too.

She squeezes back and winces out a smile, telling him what he's already guessed: "And failed again. And it was awful, again. The holidays were coming up, and I wanted a break. I didn't want to see my mother, or Zelena, or…" She glances over at the redhead with her black knit cap, still playing with little whittled woodland creatures, and Robin untangles his hand from Regina's and slips it around her back.

She doesn't pull away, thank God, quite the opposite, in fact. She leans in against him, lets her head tilt down onto his shoulder, not quite a hug, not really, but _enough_. Robin lets his arm span down across to her hip and gives it a squeeze she likely can't even feel through her parka.

"We went to St. Barts," she tells him, her voice going tauntingly bitter as she adds, "So I could cry in a sunnier clime, I guess. And I was just… wrecked. I brought up adoption again, I wanted to consider something where at least if it wasn't working out, it wasn't _me_ who wasn't able to give us a baby. So we talked about it, again, and he had all these reasons, again, and finally, when it came down to it, he admitted what I should have already known: he's not good with kids."

She lifts her head again, then, sighing and looking at him to say, "And I knew that – I mean, we _all_ knew that. He was never the fun uncle. Kids were always hard for him, he never really _connected_ with them. That's the word he used, that Christmas. 'Connected.' But I wanted kids, and it's what you do – you get married, and have a family, so he'd… wanted to. Or, felt obligated to, at least."

"Wanker," Robin mutters softly. He doesn't really mean to, it just slips out while he's standing there thinking of everything she'd told him she'd already been through for this tosser to suddenly tell her he didn't 'connect' with children.

"Yeah," she scoffs. "He said he'd hoped that it would be different when the baby came – that's what everyone always says, right? About everything. 'Oh, it'll be different when it's your own child, you'll see.' So he'd hoped that when we finally got pregnant, or when he finally held his child, he'd magically be, I don't know, a great dad, and a baby whisperer or something."

Her jaw's gone a bit tense, her lips too, and he can see the way it still galls her. Can see the anger she still carries even without her telling him, "I was so angry. I'd been through so much, and he didn't even really want—" She's blinking back tears again, sucks in another frigid breath to quell them, her exhale a bit shaky, but she's steady again when she says, "I told him I wanted to table it. We were supposed to do a _third_ round of IVF, and I said I wanted to wait, that I needed some time. He was _so_ relieved, and I was _so_ angry. It was a pretty terrible Christmas."

"I bet," he murmurs, leaning in on impulse to press a kiss to her temple. It's right there, and he's a nurturer by nature, but he realizes at the very last second that they are a) in public and b) not quite that close. At least, he's not sure if a casual, comforting kiss will be welcome. But he's already so close that he just presses his nose to her temple instead, just rests there for a second while they take a breath together and he hopes it's not as terribly awkward for her as it is for him.

If it is, she hides it well – or maybe she's just once again in dire need of spilling her secrets and it's worth more to her than a bit of dignity or discomfort.

Either way, she leans just a little bit into him, and continues telling him, "I did a lot of thinking after we got home. A lot of soul searching. A lot of delving into what was really wrong, and why I was _so_ determined to build a family on such a lackluster foundation. And I realized that I would be building my own childhood over again – one parent who would do anything for their child, and one parent who always felt cold, who had such a hard time being nurturing or supportive…" She trails off with another shake of her head, says, "I didn't want that. And I was angry with him; I was angry that he didn't tell me the truth from the beginning. It was two years ago now, but it was the beginning of the end for us. We never really recovered."

He's not surprised. He can't imagine that kind of strain could be good for a marriage that was already struggling the way she tells it.

"So," she says with a cleansing sigh, "That is my biggest regret. My biggest compromise."

Robin gives her another squeeze, sliding his arm up to rub it over her bicep as he tells her, "I'm not sorry I asked, but I feel like I should apologize for asking you _here_."

Regina shrugs, and reminds him, "I didn't have to tell you. And I certainly didn't have to tell you all of _that_. I wanted to."

"Needed to get it out?" he asks, and she nods. The heaviness of the moment seems to be lifting, so Robin lets his arm fall away from her and starts to put a more polite bit of distance between them – right up until she reaches over and grips at the front of his coat.

"Don't," she orders with a smirk. "You're warm."

Robin chuckles and wraps his arms around her properly, enveloping her in a big bear hug and rubbing vigorously at her back, her arms. Regina laughs, tucking her nose into his scarf and pressing just a little closer to him.

"How's that?" Robin asks, slowing his hands to a lazy rhythm up and down her spine.

"Better," she says, her voice muffled a bit by his scarf. But still, she doesn't move, and that's just fine with Robin. He settles his arms across her shoulders, a warm embrace but not a tight one, and for a minute they just stand there like that. Him rocking them gently from side to side, her resting comfortably against him. And then she asks, "How are the lovebirds?"

"They've moved on to Ingrid's cocoa stand," Robin tells her; he's been watching them now for a minute or so. "If he's not careful that boy's going to force them into using that freezing port-a-john."

Regina snorts a little and lifts her head, her smile a bit impish as she says, "Well, then it's a good thing someone sweet-talked the Mayor into lending out the Town Hall keys for a night."

Robin's brows lift, impressed. "She actually entrusted you with something so valuable? I'm shocked."

Regina's shoulders lift and fall inside the wreath of his arms, and she says simply, "Mother may not agree with all the decisions I make in my personal life, but she's at least always trusted me to be a responsible adult."

"In that case, I could use another warm drink," he tells her, and Regina nods, pulling back and leaving him shivering at the loss of her warmth.

They walk slowly, giving Trevor and Ophelia plenty of time to mosey _away_ from the booth as they mosey _toward_ it, and while they walk, he says quietly, "You could still adopt now, you know. It doesn't have to be something you gave up, just something that got a bit… delayed."

Regina smiles ruefully, and shakes her head.

"It's not a good time," she sighs. "I'm too busy; I feel like I'm never home, it wouldn't be fair to a child. And I'm alone. I know how hard it was for Zelena, even with our parents close by. I have friends in D.C., but it's not the same. I don't think I could do it alone, not right now."

"I think you're selling yourself short," he tells her, because, "I've never really known you to be unable to do whatever it is you put your mind to. You're one of the most capable people I know."

"I'm not worried that I'm not capable of it," she tells him. "I'm worried that I won't excel at it."

Ah, the Cora Mills Special. It's not enough to be good, one must always strive for perfection.

"You don't have to be the best at everything, you know – Mayor's daughter or not."

Regina lifts her brows at his audacity, and then reasons, "Maybe not, but when it comes to raising another human, to being solely responsible for them growing up into a well-adjusted, fully functioning, healthy person and member of society, I think one should try to be more than just 'good enough,' don't you?"

She has him there.

And they've reached the cocoa, so Robin shrugs and concedes, "Point taken. Regular cocoa or peppermint?"

She opts for regular this time, with an indulgent amount of mini-marshmallows covering the top, and by the time he's ordered and paid for both, the mood has shifted from serious confessions to something a bit more… festive.

Maybe it's the candy canes speared into his drink, or the "Jingle Bell Rock" pumping from a sound system in one of the stalls. Or perhaps it's the light snow that's just beginning to fall all around them. Whatever the cause, Robin welcomes it.

As much as he enjoys talking to her, and as much as he appreciates that she trusts him enough to spill all her secrets to him, it's Christmas. And he's passed far too many sad Christmases himself to be alright allowing someone else to suffer the same.

So he spends the next several stalls just trying to keep her smiling, trying to draw out a laugh. He picks up a little plush reindeer off a booth's display and gives him a silly voice, and a name – Randy, cousin to Rudolph, never got to join in any reindeer games either and did cousin Rudy give a damn? _Noooo,_ of course he did not. He tells her quite an elaborate tale of family rivalry and terse holiday meals, and she snickers at him, this look on her face the whole time that says he's absolutely bonkers.

He loves it. So does she.

But when Robin attempts to buy Randy the Reindeer, he's met with her protestations, with insistence that she doesn't "need a stuffed animal, you absolute crazy person." But she's grinning, all traces of sadness gone from her face for a while, so he considers it a win.

It's another ten minutes before they realize their mistake.

They're nearing the far end of the festival booths, moseying closer and closer to where Zelena's booth is set up. A fact that they're both aware of, and yet, not nearly aware of _enough_.

Because as Regina snorts into her cocoa at the off-color joke Robin has just leaned in and made about the particular positioning of a wooden Santa and the wooden elf displayed beside him, Zelena comes marching up, face as red as her hair and looking positively steamed.

"Hello, Regina," she greets, catching Regina off guard with enough ferocity that she startles a bit at the interruption.

She glances around quickly, but not subtly, apparently, because she's not managed to get more than her sister's name out, "Zelena—" before she's being cut off.

"Oh, are you looking for my daughter?" she asks leadingly, a tense edge of anger underscoring the not-so-innocent question. "The one you're supposed to be spending the evening with? Chaperoning on her not-date?"

Regina lets out a sigh and points two booths down, where Ophelia and Trevor are looking at what appear to be more candles, these ones made from old wine bottles. "They're right there, Zelena."

"They're supposed to be right _here_ ," Zelena insists. "Those were the terms of me letting her go tonight – that she be _chaperoned_."

"And she is," Regina tells her, only a hint of exasperation beneath her calm veneer as she tries to talk Zelena down. "She's been in my sight all evening – those were _our_ terms, mine and Phee's. She's never broken them, and for God's sake, Zelena, all they've done is talk and browse for knick-knacks and drink cider. They've barely even _held hands_."

Her insistence doesn't seem to be doing much to quell her sister's ire, and Robin is starting to feel increasingly awkward about standing there observing their verbal sparring match. So he leans over and gives her hand a squeeze, interrupting long enough to say, "It's probably best if I go…"

Regina, annoyed, turns in his direction with a sigh, and nods, "Thanks for keeping me company. And for earlier…" Her fingers squeeze hard over his, her lips pressing together in a sad imitation of a true smile. "For listening. It meant a lot, and I'm grateful."

"This is all very touching—" Zelena interrupts, and Regina whirls on her, temper rising to match her sister's as she bites, _If you'll just let me say my goodbyes, you can get back to yelling at me in a second_.

Robin presses his lips together to hide the smirk, insisting, "I'll be off in a moment – and I'll see you again, before you leave." It's not a question, but a certainty. She's here through the New Year, and if they don't manage to find time before then, he is determined to find a moment with her at Granny's New Year's bash. After all, "You still owe me that drink."

Her brow furrows for a second, then smoothes, a smile sliding onto her face before she answers quietly, smugly, "Yes, I suppose I do."

Her smile sets off a widening of his own, and he takes one last moment to imprint the memory of her, pink-cheeked from cold, flakes of snow on her cap, and looking at him fondly.

And then he leaves her behind to battle it out with her sister, heading back the way they came.

He has a stuffed reindeer to buy.


	5. December 27

Author's Note: Meant to post this on Wednesday, the 27th, but it slipped my mind. So today you get two updates!

* * *

It was too much to hope that Regina would be able to avoid her mother indefinitely. She should probably just be glad that she'd made it a whole four days before getting cornered over breakfast. There are no distractions today – Ophelia had gone home with Zelena at the end of the winter festival last night, her date cut short by Zelena's overprotective freak-out. It was a shame, Regina thinks, both because she's convinced her sister was being irrational, and because she'd meant to bring Ophelia back here and have another little slumber party, start her morning with another round of snowman pancakes, or maybe chocolate chip waffles, and hot cocoa, and a good excuse not to talk about things like divorce.

Instead, she's been cornered at the kitchen island over a mug of strong, fragrant coffee, and a breakfast of buttered toast and two spice cookies.

She'd been perfectly content to sit here and sip, and chew, and trade a few texts with Robin.

Somehow, she'd won the raffle for that year of free breakfasts at Granny's despite only buying a single ticket, but she'd been gone before they'd done the drawing. Robin had oh-so-generously offered to hand-deliver the voucher to her, and this being a small town, they'd actually agreed. So they've been trying to arrange a hand-off of this little card, which Robin is convinced should happen over her inaugural free breakfast, of course.

The idea makes her heart flutter in a way that has her feeling very silly, and young, and foolish – but it beats feeling lonely, and melancholy, and like a failure, so she's not going to argue with a little bit of fruitless holiday flirting. They're both free agents now, they're allowed.

Unfortunately, it leaves her with a smug little smile that she's not quite quick enough to suppress when her mother comes walking into the kitchen, already dressed in a pair of casual cotton slacks and a long sweater. Regina tugs her robe a little more tightly around her flannel pajamas and turns her phone face down.

"I see you're in a good mood this morning," Cora comments, with just enough pointedness for Regina to know that she has an opinion on said mood.

"I am," she confirms carefully, grasping her mug in both palms. "It's probably all the sleep I've been getting. That new bed is wonderful."

"Yes, I know," Cora says easily, reaching into one of the cabinets for a mug of her own, and filling it with coffee as she adds, "And here I thought it was that Locksley man you were hanging all over at the winter festival last night that had you feeling so… merry."

Regina freezes for a moment, her mug just a centimeter from her lips. She should have known that indulging in those comforting touches from Robin, stealing his warmth and kindness in such a public place, would not have gone unnoticed.

"I was not 'hanging all over' him," Regina corrects frostily, before finally taking that sip. "We were talking."

"With your arms around each other, all in and out of each other's pockets?" Cora questions, leaning against the counter with her own coffee and giving Regina one of those far too superior looks she's so good at.

"We were not 'in and out of each other's pockets,'" Regina scowls. "And yes, we _were_ talking, about private, personal things. Robin gave me a hug, and it was cold out, so perhaps it… lingered. But whoever you're getting your information from is sorely mistaken if they made it sound the way you did."

"Hm," Cora remarks, and how she manages to load so much doubt and suspicion into one syllable, Regina will never know. "I can't imagine what you'd have to talk about with that man – it can't possibly be the state of your marriage, considering you've been avoiding talking to your own mother about it for days now."

Right. So. They're doing this.

Regina exhales wearily and sets her coffee down, waving a hand in invitation and saying, "Fine. Say what you have to say – now that it's no longer a holiday, and we no longer have a child in the house, and—"

"Oh, stop making excuses," Cora scolds, moving from the counter to perch on the stool beside Regina and asking her, "What on earth happened that was cause for divorce, dear? Leo is a good man, he takes care of you, he's given you a job practically running the foundation. You're well-connected, you have a life that makes you happy—"

"Mother, if I had a life that made me happy, I wouldn't have left it," Regina interrupts, irritated at the audacity of anyone other than her husband trying to talk her out of a divorce – and one that's already final, no less. "And Leo may be a good man, but we want different things. Our marriage had lost what little passion it ever had—"

"There are more important things than passion, dear."

"Maybe so," Regina says, her jaw ticking as she watches her mother reach over and break off a piece from one of the cookies beside her half-eaten toast. "But it's still important, and the idea of living the rest of my life without it just to – to keep up appearances—" she's getting flustered, her temper rising "—was intolerable. I'm tired of it – I'm tired of the picture perfect marriage and the picture perfect home and the picture perfect career. Pictures are nothing, Mother. They are flat, and lifeless, and static, and I feel like _I_ have become flat, and lifeless, and static, and I couldn't take it anymore."

Cora takes in a breath, then lets it out, her expression pinched. And then she says, "You've always been so dramatic, Regina. Marriage is not some passionate fantasy you see in the movies. It's full of compromise, and sacrifices—"

"I know that, Mother; I was in one for a decade," Regina mutters, reaching for the cookie her mother hadn't pilfered from and taking a generous bite. If she has to go rounds about this, she's at least going to eat something delicious while she does.

"And now here you are, wanting to leave it, because it's not _exciting_ enough," Cora tuts. "Of all the reasons… And what are you hoping will happen now? That you'll find something even more exciting? In your forties? Is that why you've been chatting up that man—?"

"For God's sake, Mother, I'm not looking to marry Robin Locksley," Regina grumbles. "He's a friend – one of my oldest friends. And I'm not ' _wanting to leave'_ my marriage," she bites, reminding, "I already have. The papers are signed, it's final. I moved out months ago, so whatever you're hoping to accomplish by berating me for doing so, give it up. It's done."

It's exactly the thing she shouldn't have said. Cora zeroes in on two little words and ignores the rest, narrowing her eyes and asking, "Months ago? You moved out months ago, and never said a word to your own mother?" Regina would respond, but Cora doesn't give her a chance to. She keeps going, lamenting a completely ludicrous, "Then I can assume you didn't get your Christmas card, or—"

"Leo brings my mail into the office once a week," Regina heads her off. "I got your Christmas card, and the official one from the Mayor's office, _and_ the donation request form with the complimentary stamps, yes. I got it all, Mother."

"Well, now that I've been informed of all these changes in your life, do you think you could deign to give your mother your new contact information? I can't imagine Leo will keep forwarding your mail forever."

Regina rolls her eyes, and reaches for her phone again, ignoring the text notifications from Robin in favor of opening her thread with her mother, typing out her address and wishing for the satisfaction of the days when smartphone keyboards had actual keys you could punch down in annoyance. Instead she has to settle for pressing "send" with a particular amount of force, and then dropping her phone back to the countertop with a clatter, and a testy, "There. Now you have it."

For a moment, Cora just stares at her. Regina's not looking directly at her—she's reaching for her coffee again, taking a long swig and wishing she'd had the foresight to spike it with some Bailey's—but she can practically _feel_ the weight of her mother's gaze on her.

So she's not at all surprised to hear, "There's no need to be so snappy, Regina. After all, I'm not the one who decided to keep this all a secret, and I think a mother has a right to be offended that she was kept in the dark about something so important."

"No, you're not the one who kept it a secret, you're just the one who has been acting from the moment I walked in the door like my marriage ending is somehow a disappointment to you – and I _knew_ that you would, which is why I didn't tell you sooner. Because you don't give a crap about how unhappy I was, about the pain that I've been through, about any of that. You just care about my _prospects_ , about how this _looks_ , about how good we were on paper. And maybe on paper we were a good fit, but I've been miserable for _three years_ —" she doesn't expect the tears, springing sudden and hot to her eyes, Jesus, this needs to stop happening "and I am not going to sit here and let you make me defend why I left when I was so unhappy."

And she's not, _she's not,_ because those tears have careened down her cheeks with her last blink, and she might be able to salvage her dignity after crying in front of Robin, but crying in front of Mother when she's so unsympathetic is utterly humiliating. It makes her feel foolish, and childish, and every silly thing Cora will say that she is.

So Regina doesn't even give her a chance to respond, she just turns on her stool and hops off, grabbing her phone but leaving her coffee and half-eaten breakfast behind as she stalks out of the room and up the stairs.

She ignores the way her mother calls after her, picks up her pace on the stairs and then shuts herself in the guest room and throws the lock on the door.

It's not satisfying, it doesn't make her _feel_ any better, because she knows exactly what her mother would say to her storming out of the room like a tantruming toddler. But at least in here, there's quiet, and nobody but herself to make her feel like shit.

 **.::.**

Regina doesn't re-emerge until she's had a chance to cry a bit, and then take a shower. And then slather herself in lotion (it's Mother's guest lotion, it's too flowery, but it's something to do that isn't going back downstairs, so she does it.) And then she dresses, slowly, and blows her hair out, and applies her makeup with the utmost care. And then she notices her manicure has begun to chip, so she hunts down a bottle of polish remover and strips her nails bare before repainting them a frosty winter white.

And then, she pulls her iPad from her travel bag and finishes reading a chapter in the novel she's been working her way through.

And then, and _only then_ , once she's whiled away a good two hours of her morning, she makes her way back downstairs.

The house is silent.

For a minute, she thinks maybe had Mother slipped out at some point without her noticing, maybe went into the office to "catch up on her paperwork" or whatever nonsense she comes up with to excuse retreating to the solitude of her workplace for hours at a time.

But no, Regina is not that lucky.

She's only just begun to fantasize about the prospect of having the entire quiet house to herself, to read, or bake, or do anything else she'd like with her time, when she hears her mother's voice coming from the kitchen: "Regina, dear, can you come in here? I want to talk to you."

Right. So much for that idea.

For a second, she considers simply slipping out the front door and making a break for it for the rest of the day. Of course, her keys are upstairs in her purse, along with her wallet. She could walk, though, and she does have that free breakfast voucher burning a hole in _Robin's_ wallet. She could probably talk Granny into letting her sneak in _one_ early meal.

It would only delay the inevitable, though, and Regina is too old to run and hide (again).

With a deep sigh, she heads for the kitchen and back into the fray.

When she walks through the door, Mother is sitting at the island, right where Regina left her, as if she hasn't moved at all. She has, though, Regina knows she has – if for no other reason than that there are fresh mugs sitting on the counter top in front of her.

Cora smiles stiffly at Regina, and says in a way that is a little too kind, "I made some hot cocoa. I know how you like it."

This time, Regina remembers to reach for the Bailey's.

She's not going to sit through another few rounds with her mother without a little bit of liquid courage to loosen her up. So she ducks into the appropriate cabinet, pulling out the bottle and uncapping it, pouring a _generous_ glug of it into the mug of cocoa steaming in front of the empty stool beside her mother.

Considering the way she'd left things, and the painfully obvious way she'd been avoiding her mother for the rest of the morning, Regina is fully expecting to get another earful.

What she's not at all expecting is for her mother to tell her, "I'm sorry."

And sincerely, no less.

Even more shocking, she follows it up with, "You're right; I wasn't listening to you. I was just so angry and so hurt that you kept this from me, and you'd seemed so happy every other time I'd seen the two of you. I thought you were making a rash decision."

Of course she had. Regina takes a deep swig of her spiked cocoa to keep from making a face. When she sets it down again, Cora reaches for her free and hand and gives it a squeeze, insisting "But I want to listen now – talk to me, sweetheart. Tell me what happened."

For a moment, Regina just looks at her, not sure if she should trust this sudden change in mood. But she _seems_ sincere. She's sitting here, waiting – not expectantly, just… hopefully, maybe?

Maybe Regina should have tantrums more often, if this is the result.

Regina lets her fingers close around her mother's, squeezing back and then disentangling, wrapping them around her mug instead as she begins, "I tried to make it work; I really did. But Mother, I was so unhappy with him. I don't think I realized quite how much until I was talking to Robin about it last night – and it's not something I want to go into again, so please don't ask."

The last thing she needs is for her mother's good mood to expire at the revelation that Regina had kept her infertility a secret too — she's not sure she could handle getting bawled out about that one.

"But Leo didn't want the life that I wanted," Regina tells her, finally willing to go that far, at least. "He didn't want the things that I needed. And I gave them up for him, for years, trying to make it work, to not be a failure, to fit in the life we'd chosen. And it made me angry, and resentful, and—" She's not prepared for the rush of anger, or for the stupid tears that well up and push out her true feelings. "— _he should have told me from the beginning how he felt about children, I wouldn't have married him if I'd known how little he wanted them."_

She ought to be prepared, after last night, after the other day, but she's just… not. So now she's sitting here like an idiot, taking a deep breath and brushing away the couple of tears that managed to escape as her mother offers an all too sympathetic, "Oh, sweetheart…"

Regina sniffles and continues, "All I've ever wanted was— And we tried so hard to—" Regina catches herself – she's already said more than she'd meant to. She wipes away another tear and changes track slightly: "And then he told me he didn't think he was good with kids, that he only wanted them because I did, and it's not enough, Mother. I want to be with someone who wants to build a family with me. I don't just want a nice house, I want a _home_."

A little voice inside of her points out that all she's gotten herself is an empty apartment, but she silences it. She's gotten herself a new beginning, a place to _start_ from to find the future she wants. Maybe it sucks right now, but that's okay.

So she ignores that lonely little voice, and focuses on _Leo_ , on the topic at hand, telling her mother, "He's not enough for me; I don't love him. I never loved him enough to marry him, I don't know why I ever—"

Cora interrupts, cool as a cucumber as she says, "Because Robin Locksley was marrying that Marian girl instead of you."

Oh, for Christ's sake, "No." Regina shakes her head, reiterating, "Mother. No. Robin was a friend, nothing more."

Cora offers up one of those condescending sort of smiles she's so good at (even when she's trying to be warm and supportive, she somehow manages to miss the mark just a little), and says, "Regina, it's a small town, and people talk," as if there's anything to talk _about_. "I was well aware of your little indiscretion at the Rabbit Hole – if a man is going to cheat on his fiancée and expect it to stay a secret, he ought to pick a less public place to do it."

Well, that's just great. This is exactly what she wants to talk about with her mother – the night she managed to betray her friend, with her other friend, all because she couldn't stand to be in this house for another night all those Christmases ago.

"I swear, this town is so full of loose lipped gossips it's a wonder anything ever stays a secret," Regina mutters, before telling her mother, "Nothing happened at the Rabbit Hole. We both had a little too much to drink, so we walked back to his place together, because it was closer. That's all."

All Cora needs to know, anyway. And it's all that happened _in public_ , at any rate, so why should she admit to the rest?

She's no sooner had the thought than the universe provides her with an answer: "And then you left, and stumbled home in the cold in the middle of the night, in tears."

Regina freezes at Cora's even, knowing statement.

She'd been under the impression that Mother hadn't been aware of that. Regina had borrowed the spare key for the week, as usual, so she could come and go as she pleased. And it had been late, very late, when she'd (yes, okay) stumbled in on legs numb from whiskey and cold, cheeks flushed and chapped from wiping tears from them the whole blustery half-hour walk home.

Daddy had been up. Sitting in the living room in his pajamas, and robe, and slippers, reading a book and sipping a full brandy. Regina had taken one look at him and crumpled, confessing her sins and taking what little comfort she could from his absolution.

And she'd always thought it had stayed between the two of them, but apparently she'd been wrong.

"How do you know about that?" she asks quietly, lifting her cup to take a much-needed sip of Bailey's and cocoa.

"When the phone rings in the middle of the night, Regina, it tends to wake all the sleeping parties."

Right.

Well.

That solves that mystery.

She'd come home well after two AM. It had been too late for Daddy to be up, for anyone to be; she'd always assumed that Robin had called the house to make sure she'd gotten home alright, but when Mother never said anything about it, she'd figured she'd slept through whatever wake up call Daddy had gotten. Clearly not.

And it's old history, something firmly in the past, so there's not much point in lying about it now. Against her better judgement, she admits to her mother, "We kissed. We were drunk, and we kissed, and then we came to our senses, and I left. Nothing else happened – and _nothing_ happened in public."

They'd gotten perilously close, much to her eternal mortification, but ended up no further than some heated kisses and groping through wooly sweaters. Thank God. She's not sure what she'd have done if they'd actually lost their minds and ended up back in bed together.

"Nothing but you taking a job in Washington and not showing your face for another year," Mother points out, adding, "And then coming back engaged yourself, to a man you keep telling me you were never right for in the first place."

Leaving hadn't been about Robin. It had been about _herself_. About the mortification of making out with an engaged man, about the family conflicts that had led to her getting so stupidly drunk during her Christmas vacation in the first place.

But her move hadn't been borne out of jealousy, or… whatever it is Mother thinks it was. Neither had the rush to settle down with Leo, and move on with her life. And the idea that it had been, well, Regina finds that just makes her tired, the way so many conversations with her mother do. Her weariness with the topic at hand colors her voice as she asks, "Mother, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying if a man is worth picking up and moving yourself several states away to _avoid_ , then maybe it's worth considering if he's worth moving yourself several states back home now that you're both single." Cora lifts her cup, finally, glancing sidelong at Regina and adding, "If you really are finished with Leo," before she takes a dainty sip.

Regina's brow furrows deeply.

"I'm sorry; I'm confused," she drawls. "Do you want me to date Robin or not? Not that your opinion is relevant, I'm just trying to adjust to the whiplash here, considering you started the day berating me about it."

"I did not berate you," Cora sniffs, and oh, that's rich. And then she tops it off, continuing with a little shrug, "I've always thought you should move closer to home; if it takes a silly crush to bring you here, so be it."

"No, you haven't," Regina reminds, because that's not true at all. Not even a little bit. "You were thrilled when I moved to D.C. to work for Leo. Try again."

Cora sighs, and says, "I was happy for the job opportunity; I was proud of you. But if you're not married to that man, you shouldn't work for him. It will only lead to complications. And if you're not working in D.C., and you're not married to a man in Virginia, I see no reason why you shouldn't move closer to home."

God, she really is a piece of work.

"Okay, let's set aside, for a moment, the fact that you've now downgraded me from divorced to divorced _and_ jobless," Regina begins, because oh-how-quickly she's fallen, it seems. "What is it you imagine me doing here in Storybrooke? There's not exactly a glut of opportunities for philanthropic work outside the convent, and I am certainly not about to join the sisters and take a vow of chastity."

"I think you'd do well in the Mayor's Office," Cora tells her casually, and Regina scoffs, her brows shooting to her hairline. "You have roots in the community, you're good at influencing people, and Lord knows you've been brokering peace deals between me and your sister for decades. I think government would suit you."

Oh, yes, that's just what she needs – going from working under her ex-husband to working under her overbearing mother. What a peaceful life _that_ would be.

She'll take a hard pass on that one.

Regina lifts her cocoa toward her lips again as she says, "Mother, I love you, but I don't think being your deputy would pay enough to cover the amount of family therapy we'd need to survive working in the same office indefinitely."

It's perhaps a bit cattier than she ought to be with Mother if she's hoping to keep this tentative peace, but she would honestly rather remarry Leo than take that job.

To her surprise, her sass doesn't earn her a scolding. Instead, Mother simply purses her lips in irritation and then tells her, "I never said anything about deputy, dear. I was imagining something a bit higher up the food chain."

Regina frowns, swallowing her sip of cocoa and then saying, "I don't understand."

"You're not the only one who can keep her plans a secret, Regina," Cora tells her, sitting just a little bit straighter, and not quite meeting Regina's eyes. "I've been thinking of retiring."

Regina nearly chokes on her drink.

"Retiring?" she questions. Mother's just _full_ of surprises today, isn't she? "That's not a word I ever thought I'd hear you say."

"Yes, well, I'm getting older, and I'd rather spend the next few years seeing the world while I'm still spry enough do so than settling petty disputes at town halls and working on city budgets." Cora folds her hands together on the countertop, and adds, "But I can't just leave this city in the hands of any old townsperson and have all the work I've done the past several decades go to waste, now can I? However, if you were to move home..."

Regina scoffs, shaking her head and thinking that only her mother would think that _decades_ of mayoral work could go down the tubes in such short order.

The idea is ludicrous, not least because, "City politics isn't a dynasty, Mother. I'd have to run. And win."

"Oh, that part's easy," Cora dismisses, and, well, she would think so, having run mostly unopposed since Regina was in high school. Somehow Regina doesn't think her own road would be such smooth sailing.

"Mother, I don't even live here," she reminds needlessly. "And haven't in years."

"But you could," Cora insists. "And you grew up here, people know you, you come from a good family. Move home, buy a house, settle down, find something to do for the next year. And when I announce my intent to retire from City Hall, I'll endorse your candidacy. I'll even help run your campaign."

Well, wouldn't that be a treat.

Regina has a quick flash of memory, her mother telling her the night she'd arrived that they could 'discuss her options,' and she can't help but ask, "How long have you been thinking about this?"

"I've been thinking about retiring for about a year now, and thinking what a shame it was that you ended up so far away and your sister ended up so… Zelena." Regina scowls; now isn't the moment to defend her sister, and it wouldn't do any good anyway. Mother will always consider her a giant waste of potential for managing to be content with single motherhood on the farm. "And then Alastair Gold let slip about your divorce—" (she knew it; that son of a bitch) "—and, aside from being furious you'd kept something so important from me, I saw an opportunity that could benefit us both."

Regina would roll her eyes if she wasn't so utterly perplexed. Mother is never one to shy away from opportunism, but this seems like a rapid about-face from their earlier conversations about her future.

"I don't understand," Regina says, shaking her head. "You've been trying to convince me since I arrived that divorce was a bad idea. That I should fix things with Leo. That I was being a quitter, for lack of a better term. Why on earth would you do that if you want me to be your successor?"

"Well, there's what's right for me and what's right for you," Cora tells her, and Regina lets out another scoff. She _cannot_ believe her. Cora sounds far too sympathetic when she tells her, "I'm not completely heartless, Regina. If you truly are unhappy, then maybe you're right about the divorce."

'Maybe,' Regina thinks with enough inner scorn to light the room on fire. 'Maybe' she was right to make her own damn choices, according to Mother. Now. When it suits _her_ needs.

"Well, at least you've finally come around to that idea, late as you may be," Regina mutters. "But I still think it'd be awfully rash to just quit my job and move home so that I could maybe, one day, go into small-town government."

"What have you got to lose?" Cora asks her.

Regina shakes her head, spreading her hands and letting the sarcasm drip into her tone as she answers, "Oh, I don't know, not much. Just my whole life as I know it."

Cora tilts her head, a knowing sort of smile flickering on her lips for just a moment before she can push it away and feign innocence when she says to Regina, "The life that you've been telling me has made you so unhappy?"

She's got her there.

Regina scowls into her cocoa, taking another deep swig of it in lieu of admitting that Cora might just have a point.

Unfortunately, it gives Cora enough time to reach over and squeeze Regina's wrist again, urging her to, "Just think about it, dear," before she slides from the stool and walks out of the kitchen.

Regina is acutely aware of the fact that her mother has managed to get the last word.


	6. December 28

**_Author's Note:_** _To keep with the correct date, this is a double update. So if you haven't, make sure you read chapter 5 (December 27th) before you read this chapter._

* * *

 _Regina Mills, third stool from the end, just sat down_

Robin stares at the text for a full thirty seconds, before he answers Ruby with: _Why are you telling me this?_

He's honestly rather ashamed by how many of those seconds he spent imagining jogging down the road and slipping casually into the _second_ stool from the end like a lovesick fool.

It's ridiculous, the way he feels about her. Yes, they have a history, and, yes, he's always liked her, but the last few days, it's been… more. He keeps glancing twice at every long black parka he sees, keeps stealing glances into the coffee shop as he passes in the hope he'll see her there. Keeps skimming the sidewalks for her silhouette.

He's like a schoolboy with a terrible crush, and since when does he act this way? (Since he saw her two spots in line ahead of him on December the 22nd, that's when.)

His phone buzzes with Ruby's reply: _Thought you might want to actually talk to her instead of just making googly eyes every time her name comes up_

(She's been giving him hell for said 'googly eyes' ever since Christmas Eve, and, he's fairly certain, taking every opportunity to mention Regina just to draw them out of him.)

Another text pops up a moment later, before Robin's had a chance to respond: _She's alone. Your move, Romeo_

Robin rolls his eyes and gets back to work, straightening the rental skis in the back room of his shop.

He lasts a whole five minutes before that little voice in his head pipes up with a reminder that he has that Granny's Diner voucher for her, and that Randy the Reindeer is still in his car, keeping him company from the front seat on all his jaunts about town. The little stuffed fella is still there out of sheer laziness, not because leaving him in the car means he's likely to be on hand anywhere Robin might bump into Regina.

Because that would be pathetic, and he is not pathetic. (He is, in fact, quite pathetic.)

He gets another text: _She looks really good today. Green's a nice color on her_ and then a minute later, _Isn't green your favorite color?_

Robin shakes his head and dutifully pockets his phone again, fighting the urge to be _incredibly_ pathetic and walk the five minutes down the street from his storefront to Granny's, so that he can see just what shade of green she looks so fetching in.

Ruby's just ribbing him, and besides, he wouldn't want to crowd Regina – they've already seen each other, what? Twice? Three times this week? And he'll see her again on New Year's – there's the party, and they've agreed to meet for brunch on New Year's Day, so that he can join her while she partakes of her first free meal.

When Ruby texts again, clearly just trying to get his attention now, her choice of words makes his heart swoop low into his belly: _You two would make cute babies. You should get on that._

He thinks of Regina's confession the other night and just how much she might be hurt by that particular line of teasing. If it wouldn't be such a betrayal of Regina's trust, he'd tell Ruby to knock it off and to please not ever, ever make that joke in front of the two of them. As it is, he just ignores her again. She can play matchmaker all she wants, Robin is staying right here.

His phone buzzes again: _She looks sad_.

That does it. Those three little words are the ones that finally break his resolve and have him flipping the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "Closed for Lunch," before ducking out back to grab a certain stuffed reindeer from his car. He can turn down many temptations, but making Regina laugh when she's down is not one of them.

It's gotten bitingly cold outside, a gusty wind whipping around what could otherwise be a cozy snowfall. The flakes are a bit icy, though, and the wind makes them vicious little daggers that have him flipping up his collar and hunching down a bit into it, wishing he'd thrown on a hat before stepping out into the gloomy midday. He trots a little down the sidewalk, nearly slipping twice on the amassing slick of snow that has yet to be shoveled.

The wall of warmth he walks straight into as he opens the door to Granny's is especially welcome, what with his ears already starting to turn pink with cold.

As usual, there's holiday music pumping over the sound system, the jukebox in the back shut off for the duration of December. There's still garland strung around the doorways and over the shelves behind the long diner counter, and the decorated tree still takes up a whole four-top's worth of space in the front window (the donated gifts underneath are all gone, though, having been distributed to the needier families in the community in time for Christmas).

And there, three stools from the end, looking as festive and familiar as the rest of the place, is Regina.

The green in question is emerald, he discovers. A deep, emerald green cashmere that she's paired with those same skinny jeans from the day he'd seen her in the coffee shop, and those same heeled boots. She's sat there with a bowl of soup, a glass of water, and an open copy of the Storybrooke Mirror, frowning softly over it as she skims the pages.

Robin dutifully ignores Ruby's presence just beyond her, arms crossed as she leans against the back counter and smirks at him while he unzips his coat. He hangs it near the door, fishing that voucher from the pocket and then taking a little breath before he closes the distance between himself and that second stool, easing onto it and sliding the voucher and Randy the Reindeer over onto Regina's newspaper.

He watches her tense and scowl before she realizes what she's looking at – and then she smiles, letting out a little chuckle as she shakes her head and lifts her gaze to his with an amused, "You didn't."

"I did," he tells her, trotting Randy a little closer. "He was lonely, and his family is so unfair to him. It was only right that he be taken in by someone kinder."

Regina bites at her lower lip (her lipstick today is a bold, festive red that suits her almost more than the green of her jumper), reaching over to grab the reindeer from him and hold it up in front of her. "You are ridiculous," she scoffs, but she's still smiling.

So, mission accomplished, then.

"There are conditions, though," Robin insists gravely. "You can only take him in if you promise to play all his reindeer games."

At that, she laughs out loud, and Robin can't help the grin that splits his face. Oh, this is bad, he has it _bad_ for her. How on earth has he gotten this smitten with her in such short order?

She sobers dutifully, or tries to – mirth still tugs at the corners of her mouth as she attempts seriousness and tells him, "I promise, I will play all his reindeer games."

"And you won't ignore him?"

"Never."

"Good," Robin nods, reaching across the counter for a menu. "It's settled then. You and Randy will be roommates; that way neither of you will be lonely."

The way he says it is clipped and casual, and he's looking at the menu, or at least pretending to be (he knows the Granny's menu like the back of his hand at this point), but he's not at all unaware of the way his words have her softening beside him, her posture curving just a bit as Randy the Reindeer gets pulled safely down into the comfort of her lap, one arm looped around him for safekeeping.

She reaches for the voucher with the other, tapping it against the newspaper absently, and saying, "Thanks for holding onto this. Although, to be honest, I should just give it to you. You'd get more use out of it."

"Not an option," Robin tells her, glancing over and setting his menu down as he points out, "It says right on the bottom that it's non-transferable."

Granny has been making her way over as they'd been talking, reaching them just in time to overhear Robin's comment and add one of her own: "And a good thing, too." She tells Regina, "I can't tell you how happy I was to hear you won the raffle this year. I need to recoup after a year of feeding Leroy."

Regina snickers, and nods, says, "Well, anything I can do to help, Granny."

The old woman smiles warmly, and Robin can't help teasing her, leaning over a bit toward Regina and stage whispering, "We'll just have to stuff you to the gills on New Year's Day. Really get your money's worth. In fact, I'll just order a coffee and eat off your plate."

"That," Granny says, "would be cheating. Now, what can I get you, or are you just going to sit here and flirt?"

Regina lets loose an airy sort of chuckle, muttering an annoyed, "Why does everyone always think we're flirting?"

She sounds more embarrassed than actually irritated, though, so Robin feels comfortable turning his head toward her and muttering, "Probably because I've been flirting with you," watching her smile falter and then flicker back to life before he turns his attention to Granny and orders: "But I will have a turkey club, fries, and a cola, please."

"You got it," she tells them, shaking her head with a smile and walking away.

For a moment, it's silent, and Robin thinks maybe he misjudged and pushed a bit too far by flat-out admitting his little indulgence. But then Regina speaks again, quietly, asking in a tone he can't quite decipher, "You've been flirting, huh?"

"Do you mind?" he asks with a little grimace.

Regina just smiles, shaking her head and meeting his gaze to tell him, "No, I don't. I like it; it's been a while."

Robin chuckles lowly and mutters, "Don't tell a man that – now I feel like I should really lay it on thick."

"No, don't do that," Regina insists, reaching over and grasping his hand with hers. "Part of the fun is feeling like you mean it."

Robin's thumb rubs over her fingers slowly, down and back up, as he looks her square in the eyes and promises, "I mean it. You look really lovely today, Regina." His gaze drops to her mouth for a moment, to the subtle curve of an almost-smile, and the sudden urge to kiss her is desperate and breath-stealing. She swallows, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips, and he wonders if she's feeling it, too.

But they're in the middle of Granny's, and news of her divorce is only just now making its way through town, so they probably… shouldn't.

Regina must be thinking the same, because she clears her throat slightly and pulls her hand gently from his, taking a breath and letting it out on a soft, "Thank you. You, too – that blue is a good color on you. Brings out your eyes."

"Oh, this old thing?" Robin teases, giving a tug to the collar of his jumper. It's a royal blue, and hand-knit; Granny had parked it under his tree before Christmas.

Regina's eyes roll just a little, and she shakes her head at him again, stirring her spoon through her soup. He can see from here that it's chowder, a Granny's specialty – but still not much of a lunch.

"Is that all you're having?" he asks; anything else should have arrived by now; the diner isn't packed.

Regina shrugs her shoulders and says lightly, "I just wanted to get out of the house for a while. And I'll probably steal some of your fries, since you've decided we're lunching together."

Her gaze slides over to him, amused and only slightly accusatory, and Robin realizes that he never did ask if she wanted a companion for her meal. He'd just sat himself down and made himself at home.

He frowns good-naturedly, telling her, "Well, if fry-sharing is a requirement, I might have to rethink this. There's a comfy-looking booth over in the back where I could eat my fries in peace."

"Mm." Her brows lift, fall. "I guess I'll just sit here and starve, then. All alone. And fry-less."

"You won't be alone," Robin insists, nodding toward her lap. "You've got Randy down there to keep you company – and the paper."

Regina laughs and leans over to bump her shoulder good-naturedly against his. "Don't let this go to your head, but you're a much better conversationalist than a stuffed deer." ( _What a compliment_ , he scoffs.) "So, I'd much rather have you stay – if you don't, I'll just sit here and brood."

"We can't have that; there's no brooding allowed between Christmas and the New Year," Robin teases, one hand lifting to rub over her back on impulse. "New city ordinance – I'd have thought the mayor would have told you."

He'd been hoping for another amused smile from her, but falls short. All he coaxes out is a wry smirk, and a, "Somehow that doesn't sound like Mother," before she closes her eyes for a second and murmurs, "That feels good."

He's still rubbing her back, tracing a slow zig-zag between her shoulders and down. Her jumper is ridiculously soft beneath his open palm (Is everything she owns this soft? Is that what wealth gets you – clothes that all feel like you're dressed in a cloud?), and he's perfectly content to sit here and give her a good petting if it's going to make her face go all soft like that. Like she's touch-starved and he's her oasis in the desert.

He feels her lungs fill and empty on a sigh, and then she's rolling her shoulders slightly and telling him, "But you should probably stop. People have been talking."

"About us?" Robin asks, letting his hand skim down her spine and away, back to the safety of the bubbly glass of cola that's just been settled in front of him (by Ruby, who'd waggled her brows teasingly, taking advantage of Regina's closed eyes apparently).

Regina stirs her soup again, and nods, tells him, "According to my mother, rumor has it we were 'all over each other' at the winter festival."

Robin winces. He should have known better than to be that physical in such a public place.

"I think that's a bit of an exaggeration," he says, before taking a sip of his drink.

"It is – which I told her," Regina says. "She and I had a nice little chat yesterday – a couple of them, actually." He can tell by her tone that said chats were not 'nice' at all. She seems to catch herself, then, rushing to assure him, "About a number of things, not just our scandalous PDAs."

"Has she finally accepted that you are, in fact, getting divorced?" he asks, as she manages at last to take another bite of her soup.

Regina nods with her mouth full, swallowing, and confirming, "She has. Finally."

"I'm sure that's a relief."

"Mm." Regina makes a rather annoyed face, and says, "It's not without its own set of issues, believe me. Now she has a whole new crusade – she's decided that I'd be better off if I wasn't working for Leo. That it will get 'awkward.'"

She air quotes, a little clumsily with spoon still in hand. And loath as he is to ever side with her mother about things, Robin admits, "I can't say I blame her. Do you want to keep working for him?"

"It's not about working _for him_ ," Regina explains. "I enjoy the foundation; we do good work. And Leo has no problem with me staying on in my full capacities, divorce or no divorce, so I don't see any good reason why I should have to uproot that part of my life, too."

"Fair enough," he reasons. He doesn't know all the details of her job, but he knows that she doesn't work beside Leo day-in and day-out, and if they did end things on good terms, she's probably right. It's likely not actually a problem. Still, he can't help asking, "Are you happy there? I know you said you enjoy _the foundation_ , but are you happy?"

Her expression shifts then, goes somehow knowing, and sad, and Robin isn't at all surprised when she responds with an all-too-telling, "That's what I've been asking myself. And I think I'm… _happy enough_."

They both know what that means.

She makes a half-assed attempt at smiling and then takes another bite of her soup as Ruby sets his plate down in front of him. Robin immediately turns it around so the pile of fries is between himself and Regina, earning a little chuckle that fades almost as soon as it starts.

Screw it, Robin thinks, letting his hand rise to her back and take up those soothing strokes again. It's just a bloody back rub; it's not like he's snogging her on the counter top.

She glances over at him, and Robin shrugs, says, "I don't mind if you don't."

Regina squints a little, assessing, then breathes into his touch, and decides, "Let them talk."


	7. December 31

"Every year, we go to this party, and _every year_ you're overdressed," Zelena points out as Regina secures the backing of a short onyx drop earring and rolls her eyes at the criticism.

"I prefer to think everyone else is _underdressed_ ," Regina tells her, meeting Ophelia's eyes in the mirror and giving her a wink. Or her best approximation of one anyway.

Ophelia snickers and dips into Regina's eyeshadow, brushing a shimmery gold onto her lids as her mother continues to lament, "Yes, of course, because _Regina Mills_ and her Virginia-mansion-chic should set the dress code for the whole town."

"It's New Year's Eve; it should be festive," Regina argues, taking a step back to get a better look at herself in the mirror.

Her dress is gold and glittery, sequined from top to bottom so she sparkles like the ball they're about to watch sink into a new year. It's not garish, though (Mother will think it is, but who cares?), or slutty. It's classy – form-fitting but not so tight that she looks cheap, long sleeves and a modest neckline but a plunging back that makes her feel sexy. The hem is a little higher than her usual, but it still covers several generous inches of thigh, and she's paired it with black tights (because the temperature has dropped yet again, and it's far too cold to go bare-legged), and a pair of knee-high leather boots with enough heel that she won't feel short but not so much that she'll fall on her ass on the first patch of icy sidewalk.

A subtle smokey eye, a shimmery nude lip, a productive date with the curling iron and she looks _damn good,_ if she does say so herself.

"I think you look really pretty," Ophelia tells her, defying her mother as she gilds her other eyelid and pouts, "I wish I could go with you. It's stupid that the party at Granny's is only for grown-ups."

Considering the many cases of champagne lined up along the back hallway of the diner the other day, Regina can pretty safely say it's _not_ stupid that there's a strict twenty-one-and-over rule at Granny's Annual New Year's Eve Bash.

Zelena must be thinking the same thing, because she scoffs, and says, "If Ruby drinks even half as much champagne as she did last year, she'll still be in danger of floating away. It's definitely not appropriate for children."

Ophelia sulks, and Regina reaches over, brushing her fingers through her niece's hair and telling her, "Life is full of rites of passage; growing old enough to get through the door of Granny's party is one of them. Someday, you too will attend, and I will run interference on your mother while you drink a little too much _completely legal champagne_."

She throws that last bit over her shoulder, because Zelena is already huffing her disapproval.

"But until then…" Regina reaches over, snatching up a tube of saucy red lipstick and offering it to Ophelia. "Stay here with Grandma, drink some sparkling grape juice, experiment with my makeup all you like, and watch the ball drop on TV."

Ophelia makes a comically grouchy face, and then smiles, relenting with an overdramatic, " _Fine_." She perks up just a little to ask, "Can I try on your clothes, too?"

"Whatever gets you through the FOMO," Regina tells her, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek, before looking to Zelena and urging, "Now, let's go. It's already almost ten."

"I don't know what you're so antsy about," her sister sighs, straightening her kelly green blouse (she's gone for cleavage this year, and a lot of it), and brushing a piece of lint from her black slacks. "The only people who get there in the first hour anyway are the over-sixty set who want to turn in just after the ball drops, and the nuns."

Regina shrugs, and reminds, "I don't see everyone day after day like you do."

It's not at all because history suggests the owner of a certain sporting goods store will be there promptly at nine-thirty. Not at all.

Zelena says her goodbyes to Ophelia, ordering her not to stay up _too_ late – something Regina thinks is ridiculous; it is New Year's Eve, and the girl is _twelve_ , not two. As far as Regina's concerned she should be attempting to ring in the New Year with every US time zone. It's what she and Zelena had done in their early teen years, after all, toasting their fake champagne with New York, and New Orleans, and Denver, and L.A. (They'd been fifteen before they'd managed to stay awake until Los Angeles, but the trying was half the fun.)

And then they're off, bundling into their coats, and piling into Zelena's car. Regina would prefer her Merc, but she has no intention of ending the night sober, and she doesn't relish the idea of staying parked downtown overnight or getting behind the wheel under the influence either. Ever since Daniel, she has a strict rule of not driving after more than three drinks, no matter how sober she feels – and she has half a mind to drink the last miserable year into oblivion tonight.

So the Pinto it is.

When they arrive on Main Street, it's already packed; nearly every available spot on the street is occupied, and certainly all of the ones that would fit Zelena's boat of a car. They end up parking behind the coffee shop and walking the two blocks to Granny's, where the party is already in full swing.

It's loud inside, the Christmas playlist of the last few weeks switched over to what sounds like a swing band, at the moment. The tree is gone, too, along with all the garland, and in their place are black and gold pennants spelling out HAPPY NEW YEAR 2018 and an absolutely ridiculous amount of gold and black balloons with a good foot of spiraling ribbon hanging off of each one. The balloons cover much of the ceiling, kept away from the lights by several invisible-at-the-moment runs of twine tacked strategically from wall to wall.

With the exception of the date on the pennants, the decorations are the same every year, and Regina has come to appreciate the simplicity of it. It's just enough to set a fun, festive atmosphere, but not so much to disguise that this night is really all about drinking too much champagne and socializing with the neighbors.

Speaking of neighbors…

Regina glances around the room for Robin as they bring their coats back to the only ground-floor room of the B&B—it gets turned into a coat check of sorts every year for the party—but she doesn't see him anywhere.

In fact, she doesn't see him for a good ten minutes, until after she's gotten her first glass of champagne and been pulled into a conversation with Marco. Even then, it's just a passing interaction, Robin's fingertips ghosting down the back of her arm just lightly enough to draw her attention as he leans in and whispers to her, "I don't want to interrupt, but you look bloody fantastic," and then walks away before she can even say hello.

She flounders a little, staring at his back (he's in a black button-down that fits him _very_ well, and grey wool slacks that fit him _even better_ ). Regina feels her cheeks flush just a little and hopes she can blame the rising heat in the room.

When she drags her attention back to Marco, he's smiling at her, waiting for her, and she's fairly certain her cheeks flush even deeper when she asks, "I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

 **.::.**

He's kissing her tonight.

She's shown up here, in this dress, this gold number that has her back bare halfway down to her hips. It's maddening, has Robin desperate to drag his tongue up her spine, to kiss along her shoulders; he hasn't felt such a hard punch of lust for a woman in, well… there was that year she showed up in a _black_ sequined dress that plunged a bit in the _front_ , and he'd certainly felt things then. But her _husband_ had been her date to the party that night, so that had pretty much thrown cold water on those fantasies. But her husband isn't here now – isn't her husband now – and Robin has a perfectly socially acceptable excuse to kiss her in approximately an hour and ten minutes, so he is going to do just that.

For now, though, he's going to mingle.

He's been keeping an eye on her, trying to keep track of her throughout the night and work his way closer and closer, but it seems that someone always has her ear. And now he's gone and lost her, somehow. She'd been talking to old Mr. Worthington, and Robin had headed to the bar to get another flute of champagne, and then she'd been gone.

"Lose your girl?" Ruby asks, sidling up alongside him and draping her arm over his shoulders. She's definitely a bit sauced – not plastered yet, by any means, but he wouldn't call her just tipsy either.

"She's not my girl," Robin answers gamely, because she is not, but they both know he's entirely smitten.

"Sure, she is," Ruby snorts, goosing him playfully and telling him, "She's peeing; I just came from there," before insisting vehemently that he, " _Make a move already_ ," and then sauntering away.

Robin laughs in her wake, shaking his head, and taking another bubbly sip of champagne. A few minutes later he catches a flash of gold out the corner of his eye, and lets his attention slip away from Astrid and Leroy, with whom he'd been chatting to pass the time. He locks eyes with Regina just in time for someone else to grab her attention, and Robin nearly lets out an audible growl of frustration before he sees her point apologetically in his direction and disentangle herself.

Well, thank God.

"I'll be back in a minute," he tells Astrid and Leroy, and then he weaves his way through the room toward the glittering goddess of the hour.

When they reach each other, she steps in close and mutters, "Please save me. If another well-mannered person asks how I'm managing through the divorce, I might just scream."

"You have been quite popular," he chuckles sympathetically.

"That's one word for it," Regina grumbles, a grumpy scowl on her (recently glossed, he notices) lips. "I really cannot tell you how much I'm looking forward to midnight. I'm going to relish every second of counting down to the end of this shitty year."

"It's almost over," he assures, glancing at his watch before telling her, "Only fifty-eight minutes left."

"Thank God," she mutters, and then she takes a deep breath, like she's trying to flush out her sour mood. "So, what have you been up to? I saw you talking to Leroy and Astrid – any exciting news from the lovebirds? Are they pregnant, or eloping, or anything that could take the focus off me for a while?"

"Nothing of note, unfortunately," he chuckles. "Truth be told, I wasn't really listening. I was keeping an eye out for you – I've been waiting for a chance to chat you up all evening, but every time I turn, you've been snatched up by someone else."

That look of desperation she'd been wearing as she approached him melts away then, smoothing out into an easy smile as she says, "Well, I'm all yours now. After all, I do believe I owe you a drink."

His brow furrows for a moment, and then he remembers – the winter festival. He grins and reaches for her, urging, "Come on. I think I know just the place to find one."

 **.::.**

He leads her back the way she'd come, but instead of heading for the back hallway with the bathrooms, they turn right and duck into the kitchen. It's even warmer here than in the increasingly crowded diner, the oven fired up to heat some of the trays of food that keep being brought out to the hors d'oeuvres table. But at least it's relatively quiet, and the only person who might try to pester her with too much sympathy (or faux sympathy disguising a thirst for banal small-town gossip) is Granny.

Somehow she thinks she's safe.

Granny looks up as they enter, hefting a pan of pigs-in-a-blanket into the oven, and says, "What can I do for you kids?"

"Just looking for a place to hide the recently divorced from the town gossips," Robin tells her, and Granny lets out a snort and tells them they can stay as long as they want.

"Can I help with anything?" Regina offers, but she gets waved off and told not to lift a finger.

"This is the last round, anyway," Granny says. "You know I stop serving food before the ball drops."

"I do," Regina nods with a smile. Granny has always insisted that she loves throwing this massive party, but she still wants to enjoy the holiday herself. So every year at about 11:30, the food suddenly seems to dry up, and she appears in the diner herself to ring in the New Year with everyone else.

There's obviously some cleaning up to do, but Regina doesn't imagine she'll be allowed to help with it if she can't even help put a few things in the oven.

So Regina turns her attention back to Robin instead, laughing softly when she turns to find him holding a full bottle of champagne. She bites her lip and teases, "So more than one drink, then?"

"I think the holiday calls for a few, don't you?" Robin asks her with a shrug, popping the cork on the bottle, and handing it over to her. For just a moment, she's distracted by how ridiculously attractive he is. He's rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, his forearm flexing slightly as he shifts the bottle. And he's smirking at her, dimples popping, those blue eyes teasing and light.

Regina's brows lift slowly, her voice taunting and obvious as she says to him, "A glass would be nice."

"Nice, perhaps, but not necessary," he responds, turning to ask Granny, "You don't mind if we pilfer a bottle for ourselves, do you?"

Regina checks him out again while he's not quite looking her way. She'd blame the two glasses of champagne she's already had for the way she wants to keep drinking him in, but it would be a lie to pretend she hasn't always found him handsome. And somehow this man is like a fine wine, only growing more and more enticing as his hair has gotten streaked with silver, and his jaw covered over in a light beard instead of the barefaced look he'd sported when they met. His forties _suit_ him, and she desperately hopes hers have been equally kind from an outsider's perspective.

Granny encourages them to "Have at it," moving around the kitchen and cleaning up a bit. Her back is to them a moment later, so Regina nearly misses her muttered, "Whatever will help you two get your courage up."

Nearly, but not quite, and Regina can't help the embarrassed little laugh that spills out of her as she takes the bottle from Robin, their fingers brushing in the transfer. The contact should be inconsequential, should be nothing, but it zings up Regina's arm and ignites a flutter in her chest, silencing her impulse to shoot back at Granny with another exasperated request for people to stop assuming she and Robin are something they're not.

And besides, she has every intention of ringing in the New Year by planting a kiss on his stupidly handsome face, so she probably doesn't have a leg to stand on, does she?

Instead, she lifts the bottle to her mouth, murmuring just before it hits her hips, "My courage is doing just fine, thank you."

Granny snorts a little laugh, but it's Robin who has most of Regina's attention, his Adam's apple bobbing as he watches her swallow that mouthful of champagne. It fizzes merrily down her throat, and Regina licks away a bead of it from her lips (he watches that, too, and suddenly the air between them seems thicker, more charged).

She hadn't really _meant_ for her statement to come out the way it had, but it's there between them, and it's as if they're suddenly very firmly on the same page. She's not sure exactly what his expectations are, she's not even really sure what _hers_ are, exactly, but any pretense that they're not going to end the night lip-locked has sailed cleanly out the window, she knows that.

Her gaze drops to his mouth, too, and her tongue creeps out to wet her lips again as she imagines herself kissing him, hard, imagines… other things, things she probably shouldn't be imagining with a third person in the room. The kitchen suddenly feels very, very warm.

As if he's read her mind, Robin reaches for the champagne himself, chugging down a swallow and then declaring, "Y'know, it's stuffy back here; why don't we take this bottle out back and… go for a little walk in the moonlight."

It's twenty degrees outside. Frigid. And her coat is tucked away amongst God knows how many other black parkas in that back room.

So naturally Regina answers, "That sounds good. I could use some air."

Granny tells them to, "Have a happy New Year, if I don't see you out there," another statement Regina will not examine the implications of until later.

Right now, she's too busy walking in front of Robin toward that back hallway and the door that leads to the rear entrance. Maybe a little bit of biting winter air will help her hormones cool off for a minute.

They're two steps into that back hallway (empty for the moment), when she hears Robin let out a low groan behind her, and then his free hand is circling her arm, turning her and backing her up against the wall in one move, his other arm caging her in as his mouth crashes down onto hers.

Regina moans into the kiss, her body responding with gusto, torso arching to press against him as his hand shifts from her arm to skate up the bare skin of her back. She shivers at the tickling sensation, gasping softly (Robin's tongue dips into her mouth when she does, and hers licks against it), her arms wrapping around his middle and clutching, her ankle running up his calf. The kiss is electric—nothing like the tame and rote kisses she's shared with Leo in the last several years—and Regina _lights up_ with it.

It's like a switch has been flipped, like her body has been given permission to finally reach for something it _wants,_ and _oh_ , how she wants him now. Her skin is tingling, her nipples hardening, and she can feel herself growing wet.

When Robin tips his head out of the kiss, she's almost offended that he'd dare stop kissing her, and then he breathes, "I'm sorry," and she almost laughs.

"I'm not," she husks. Did he not notice the way she was practically climbing him like a tree?

He's panting lightly, his breath washing against her chin as he tells her, "I just couldn't wait another forty minutes with you in this dress. It's maddening; I haven't been able to take my eyes off you all night."

Regina laughs breathily, kissing him again and then murmuring boldly, "Let's go to your place. You can take a closer look at it."

Not that he's not plenty close as it is, stroking along her spine again in a way that works up a soft little sound from her throat.

Robin smiles warmly at her, looking at her with so much _affection_ underneath the very obvious lust (she can feel him hard against her hip, and it makes her clench). It's half teasing and half covering his bases, she knows, when he asks her, "How many glasses of champagne have you had?"

"Just two. I'm tipsy, not drunk," she assures, her own hands wandering down and squeezing at his hips, pressing him more tightly to her. "I know what I'm doing. I want to get out of here."

Robin nods, then pulls back a little, asking as they disentangle, "Do you need to tell—"

"I'll text her; it'll come with less judgment," Regina tells him, reaching for the bottle of champagne he's still holding.

She lied. She's not kissing this man at midnight.

She's going to have sex with him, instead.

And for that, she might need just a _little_ extra courage, so Regina lifts the bottle to her lips and takes a long swig.

 **.::.**

It's absolutely freezing outside.

That's all Robin can think as he and Regina sneak out the back of Granny's Diner.

Well, that and the way she'd been pressed up against him in the hallway.

He's half-hard in his pants as they walk – had been full mast when he was kissing her (and it would be embarrassing, him getting so worked up over just a few kisses, if she hadn't been plastered to his front just as eagerly), but the few minutes it had taken them to find her coat and his, combined with the harsh slap of cold air against his face, seem to have been enough to settle him down just a little.

But only a little.

His heart is thumping in his chest, nerves jumping in his belly as he wraps his arm around her shoulders and steers her toward the side street that leads to his house. His _house_ , that he is taking her to, so he can, as she put it, 'get a closer look at her dress.'

He'd thought he would kiss her at midnight and that would be that, a perfect end to the night, a lovely little indulgence to cap off a week of flirting and good conversation. Now he has no idea what the evening holds, and he's trying not to be too hopeful.

He will be kissing his way down her spine, though, he's deciding that right now. If they're headed back for some privacy in which to make out like horny teenagers (something he happens to know they're quite good at, and at least this time they won't have any reason to feel bad about it afterward), he's damn sure going to acquaint himself with that tempting open back of her dress.

"Are we… actually taking a walk in the moonlight?" Regina questions doubtfully, giving him a sidelong glance.

Robin glances up at the sky – not much moon to speak of, tonight. But still, he says, "Only technically – I walked. I figured I'd be drinking, and it's not that far, even when you're sloshed."

He's stumbled home from the Rabbit Hole quite a few times, several sheets to the wind. The trek home usually seems much farther then than it really is, but in truth it's not far. Ten minutes at a good clip, maybe, fifteen at an amble.

"Thank God you live close to downtown," she breathes, pressing a little closer into his side and adding, "It's freezing."

She's hatless, he realizes. No surprise, considering her hair is styled, she'd clearly taken pains to curl it into those soft waves he wants to bury his fingers in.

He's hatless, too, but aside from his erection, the rest of him seems a bit impervious to cold at the moment. He feels it, sure, but he doesn't mind it.

Robin leans over and presses a warm kiss to her temple, then hands her their pilfered bottle of champagne again, saying, "Have a drink; it'll warm you."

Regina smirks, telling him, "That's a lie," and then taking a drink anyway. She passes it back and adds, "Liquor doesn't make you warmer, it only makes you _think_ you're warmer while it encourages hypothermia to kill you faster."

"Well then, we'd better get you inside, so we can, uh, share body heat," he teases. "I hear getting naked under a blanket together is the ideal way to warm a person suffering from hypothermia."

It's a bit bold, perhaps, but Regina just laughs and shakes her head. "Well played," she praises, and Robin shrugs his shoulders, gives her a smug little frown.

They lapse into a comfortable silence after that, walking quickly together down the sidewalk, the only sound the click-clack of Regina's heeled boots on the mostly-shoveled concrete. There's an apartment nearby with an open window; Robin hears laughter and a bit of premature Auld Lang Syne (there's no way it's the real thing, they've still a good half hour at least.)

It has him stopping short, though, and turning to look at her. "You wanted to ring out the old year."

Regina's brow furrows. "What?"

"Back at Granny's," he reminds her. "You said you'd never been more looking forward to counting down to the end of a year; you'll miss the big group countdown – are you sure you don't want to go back?" It's absolutely insane and self-defeating of him to ask, but, "We can always go back to my place and _get a closer look at each other_ after the ball drops."

Regina smiles at him, bewildered, and like he's a bit dumb, then leans in closer to him again and says, "We can turn the TV on for the countdown; I'd rather be with you than in that stuffy diner with all those people who want to ask me about my ex-husband. I'd much rather be at your place doing far more enjoyable things with my mouth than making small talk."

Robin's brows shoot up, and Regina's eyes widen slightly – she clearly hadn't meant that to be quite as bawdy as it had sounded. Robin chuckles, waggling his brows at her – clearly kidding, and enjoying the way she scrunches her nose with embarrassment.

But then she's tilting her head a little, and then catching him off-guard, pushing up onto her toes and reaching for the back of his neck, pulling him into another brief, tongue-filled kiss.

"I meant _that_ ," she murmurs, her breath a warm, white cloud between them before she teases, "But maybe if you play your cards right…"

Her lips brush against his own stunned, slack ones, and then she's taking a few steps backward, the cold rushing in to fill the emptiness in her wake.

She's smirking naughtily at him, and then she turns her back on him so she can walk forward, and Robin trots to catch up.

All he can think _now_ is that they need to walk faster.

 **.::.**

Next time she goes to one of these parties, she might just take Zelena's advice and wear pants.

By the time they get to Robin's, Regina's not-quite-bare thighs are icy and her ears are, too. The rest of her, though, is very warm.

She unzips her coat and hands it to Robin, who in turn hangs it on a hook by the door, his settling alongside it a moment later. As he toes off his boots, she reaches down to unzip hers, balancing one hand against his door as she uses the other to tug off one boot, and then the other.

And then she just feels short.

Robin's not _tall_ , but Regina is used to wearing heels. Pumps, or heeled boots, something, anything, to give her those extra few inches God and genetics did not.

They'd been pretty much eye-to-eye before, but now her chin only comes to somewhere near his shoulder. Which she would know, because now that they're inside and coat-less and shoe-less, it seems they've forgotten how this whole taking-someone-home thing works.

Robin clears his throat and gestures toward his living room with the hand still clutching that bottle of champagne (she could use a bit more of it, now, to be honest) as he tells her, "TV's in there."

"Right," she nods, butterflies erupting in her stomach as she steps into his darkened home. He doesn't turn the light on, but his fingers find hers a moment later, and then he's leading her down a short hallway until it opens up into a small living room. His place isn't very big, and it's been a long, long time since she's seen the inside of it, but she has a vague idea of where things are.

He passes her the bottle, and murmurs, "Let me just…"

Robin's fingers slip from hers, and Regina squints into the dark until the moment she hears a little whoosh, and the low light of a fire flickers into life on a far wall.

The gas fireplace is new; she doesn't remember that from before.

She can see him now – the firelight is low, cozy, but enough that she catches sight of him bending for something. The remote, she realizes, as the TV clicks into life, and Robin flips channels until he finds the New Year's Rockin' Eve countdown.

And then he mutes it, and reaches for Regina again, telling her, "So you won't miss it," as he leads her toward the couch.

Honestly, at this particular moment, she couldn't care less about the damn countdown. She just wants to be kissing him again.

She follows him, sipping from the bottle again as she does, and then passing it back to him as she settles onto the sofa cushions. They're cushy; she sinks in like a cloud. Robin sinks down next to her, leaning forward to settle the bottle on the coffee table and then smiling at her. It's a little lopsided, a little nervous, and she's glad for it. At least it means she's not alone with her butterflies.

His hand finds her knee, fingers rubbing tickly circles over her tights as he says, "I was going to kiss you at midnight, you know. It was going to be very smooth, very timely. Very platonic if I'd been reading you wrong these last few days."

Regina chuckles, those butterflies settling down just a little as she admits, "Me too." She swallows thickly, her hand settling over his, fingers weaving together, then loosening, her digits stroking gently along his as she whispers, "As for whether you were reading things wrong… I don't know. I don't know what the signals were – this week hasn't been what I was expecting."

Robin sits back into the cushions, turning a bit so he's facing her more; when Regina moves to do the same, he reaches for her leg, pulling it up across his lap and letting his hand settle just beneath her knee. His fingers are still cold; the touch chases a shiver through her.

"How so?" he asks, and Regina shrugs, scooting in a little closer (she has one leg bent between them now, pressed firmly to his thigh; those chilly fingers begin to warm themselves by drawing lazy patterns along the back of her lower thigh).

"I hoped I'd see you," she admits. "I usually hope for that – even when I probably shouldn't have hoped for that, I did."

Robin smiles in the blue light of the television, and assures her, "So did I."

"But my plan was definitely not to come back to town and end up making time for coffee, _and_ a walk through the winter festival, _and_ a lunch date, _and_ divulging many of my innermost secrets." She bites her lip and adds, "Although I have to admit you were on my mind when I picked out this dress, on account of the way you couldn't stop staring at me in that _black_ sequined dress several years back." He ducks his head a little, snickering, and she adds, "Don't think I didn't notice. I did. So did Leo."

Robin winces and asks, "Did I cause a problem?"

"Nah," Regina dismisses. "Although he did request that I refrain from the plunging necklines in the future; men are bound to stare, and all that."

Robin snorts a laugh, his hand running up her thigh, over her hip, around to her back, in a way that makes her suck in a breath. He skims along the apex of the vee plunging down her back, and says teasingly, "You sure showed him, didn't you?"

She snickers and excuses, "It's the back; it's not nearly as tempting."

Robin practically chokes, his fingertip ghosting along the edge of where fabric meets skin as he says, "I'll have you know that this dress is ten times worse than that one. It's been inspiring impure thoughts in me all evening long."

Regina finds herself laughing again – and God, how she's missed a proper flirt. Ten years in a dull marriage had cost her more than she'd remembered – she'd forgotten about all _this_. But she remembers now, and maybe she's a little rusty, but she thinks she knows how this goes. Case in point, she leans in again, until she's close enough to feel his breath before she murmurs, "What kind of impure thoughts, exactly?" and then closes the distance between their lips.

The kiss is different from earlier, more lip, less frantic. He tastes the same, like champagne and something definitively masculine, still smells like pine and soap, but the whole feel of it is different. Less needy, more lingering. He catches her bottom lip in a soft bite, then sucks at it, and then lets it go.

"Would you like me to tell you, or show you?" he asks against her mouth, their lips meeting again warmly, but only for a moment.

Regina swallows thickly. Her brain is screaming _SHOW ME_ , but she doesn't necessarily want to rush this. They have all night – hell, the next appointment on her calendar is _him_ , in the morning, and she'd already texted Zelena to tell her that Robin would see her home and not to wait for her (she'd then promptly pocketed said phone and left it in her coat pocket so as not to see the reply). And as much as she wants him, it's been a while, she wants to, y'know, work her way up to it.

So she licks her lips and asks, "How impure are we talking?"

"Turn around," Robin urges softly, bussing her lips again and adding, "Your virtue shall remain intact, milady, I promise you."

Regina chuckles, shaking her head and disentangling herself from him, shifting on the cushion until her back is to him. She jumps a little when he touches her again, but it's not so much nerves as those maddeningly light touches being ticklish in the _best_ way.

Still, he murmurs a quiet, "Sorry," and then she feels his breath on her shoulder, followed closely by his lips. She tilts her head to the side, giving him more room, or permission, she's not sure which. Robin takes it regardless, dropping more soft kisses all the way to the curve of her neck. (Her breath catches gently; her nipples harden again.)

And then he plants one right at the base of her neck, just over her spine – but this one is hungry and wet, his tongue swirling a little circle over her vertebra. Regina gasps softly, and then he does it again, an inch lower, again, lower, again, painting a line of hot, damp kisses down her spine, and Regina arches, her head tipping back.

Goosebumps flare out from his touch, cool air hitting spit-slicked flesh, his mouth hot against her skin, his hands (she's suddenly very aware of them) squeezing at her hips. It's unbearably sexy; she aches, she _throbs_ , and she lets out this noise, this high, mortifying moan of delighted surprise.

Her eyes pop open and she claps a hand over her mouth to stifle herself – and she needs it, because as he nears the bottom of that open vee, she moans again, low in the back of her throat, and oh, she's so wet, and all he's done is kiss her, and – _oh God_ – run his tongue back up her spine, one smooth lick all the way up that he closes into a kiss right back where he started.

Regina is a puddle. A melty, drippy, short-of-breath puddle.

And then she feels his fingers wrap around her wrist, giving it a tug to urge that hand away from her mouth, his voice warm in her ear as he murmurs, "Don't do that." He turns her hand in his grasp, draws it back and presses another kiss over her racing pulse point, and Regina thinks she might just combust on the spot.

God, this is mortifying and magical, all at once.

"I think," she gasps, embarrassed all over again at how breathy her voice has gone, "I've just become acutely aware of how long it's been since I've done this."

Robin chuckles, turning his head into her neck and sucking more kisses there. He's gentle about it, but she's a live wire now, every nerve ending wide awake, so even those little touches have her shivering.

"If it makes you feel any better," he murmurs, and she swears his next kiss has a little scrape of teeth in it, "I bet it's been longer for me."

Regina chuckles – she probably has to give him that one. If she was in any mood to think about Leo at the moment, she'd be able to think back and pinpoint the last time they'd bothered to have sex – it was cold out, she remembers that, so almost a year, at least. She doesn't know much about Robin's private life when she's not around, but his comment is enough that she imagines it's probably longer for him.

"Be that as it may—" Regina swallows; she probably shouldn't say this, but, "Leo wasn't very good in bed. It was rarely great; passing, most of the time, but rarely great." One of Robin's hands winds around her middle, and he shifts until he's pressed right up against her back. Regina shuts her eyes, drops her head back to his shoulder and confesses, "I haven't had really good sex since Graham."

And they both know that Graham was in her mid-twenties, several years before Leo. A good decade and a half ago.

Robin freezes for a second, and then, "Okay. You win."

A laugh chokes its way out of her, one elbow jerking back to jab at him as she scoffs, "I'm not sure 'win' is the word I'd choose here."

The air from his snickering shivers across her neck, his beard scratching lightly at her skin and raising another crop of goosebumps. She feels another kiss against the side of her neck, his palm pressing warmly against her belly, his other hand squeezing at her hip. And then he asks simply, "Do you want to have sex tonight?"

"Desperately," she breathes, and then she realizes how that might sound, considering the conversation at hand, and she turns in his grasp, reaching around for his jaw, his stubble tickling at her palm as she assures, "But not because I haven't in so long. Because I want you."

Regina watches him smile, and say, "Good. Because I want you, too."

And, well, that does it.

There's a flurry of movement, of twisting, turning, their mouths meeting clumsily as they try to kiss and rearrange at the same time. Their noses bump, and she nearly knees him right in the boner at one point (thankfully she _doesn't_ , so they can laugh about it, snickering between kisses as he guides her knee over to the safety of the far side of his lap), but eventually they resituate with her straddling his lap, that dress rucked up to the top of her thighs as they make out heavily.

Robin has one hand in her hair, and one on her ass—kneading, grasping. Regina rubs eager palms over his chest, down his belly, back up. His hand shifts, moves down, steals under the hem of her dress and up to palm her through the material of her tights, and suddenly they feel constricting, warm, she's flushed and hot, she wants them off, wants everything _off._

She sits back onto his thighs and looks down at him, and he looks so good in that particular moment that she nearly moans out loud at just the sight of him. He's all tousled, his shirt rumpled, his hair mussed by her fingers, his mouth thoroughly kissed. And he has that heavy-lidded look of arousal.

Regina licks her lips and runs her fingers down his chest again, from his collar, over the buttons, down, down, watching his breath hitch with anticipation. God, she has really, really missed good sex. Has missed _wanting_ this much, has missed foreplay that makes her feel like _this_ , foreplay for the sake of enjoying each other rather than out of sheer necessity.

The hand Robin still has tangled in her hair begins to move, stroking down the side of her neck, over her collar, her breast, mirroring her own actions in a way that makes Regina moan softly.

She smiles at him, and he smiles back, and then she runs her hand back up his chest and toys with his top button, telling him, "You look good in this shirt. I'm almost reluctant to take it off."

Robin grins, shrugging his shoulders and teasing, "I can put it back on when we're done if you'd like."

Regina rolls her eyes and laughs, leaning in to kiss him again and opening that top button, the one after, the next one. His hands find themselves busy, too, both of them rising to her collar and tugging it down, peeling her dress down in front. That's one way to do it, she supposes – there's a zipper along the side, but as his hands cup her breasts she decides it's really not necessary.

Robin's thumbs rub over firm nipples, and they moan in tandem, pleasure skittering along Regina's skin, hastening her pace as she works those last few buttons free and pushes the shirt off his shoulders. Robin sits up slightly to work his arms out of it, Regina pushing blindly at the cotton of the tank top he'd had underneath it.

Their movements throw them out of the kiss and she sits back again, ripping the black cotton up and off over his head. The gesture works her own dress back up enough to mostly cover her breasts and Robin pouts at the realization. Regina would pay the dopey expression more notice if she wasn't suddenly distracted by his bare chest.

Robin, clearly determined to be similarly preoccupied, dedicates himself to pushing her dress back down, helping her wriggle her arms out of tight sleeves and leaving the whole thing bunched around her waist.

"I stand corrected; you look better with it off," she pants, and Robin grins, muttering something she's fairly certain is _So do you_ , but he's leaning in as he says it, and then his mouth is on her nipple and her brain short circuits a bit.

He sucks and licks at her, and Regina threads her fingers into his hair, and trembles, and gasps. Her hips rock, grinding against his erection, and she's suddenly very aware once again how wet she is. She can feel herself sliding against the cotton of her thong, and moans when one of his hands drops to the hinge of her hip and thigh, grasping there and pressing her down as he rocks up. He sucks hard at her nipple and does it again, coaxing an, "Oh God, Robin…" from her.

She keeps rocking as he runs his tongue from one breast to the other, sucking at the other stiff peak until she whimpers, her teeth digging hard into her lip to keep from moaning the way she wants to (because there's no need to holler the rafters down over someone sucking her nipples, it's just that it feels so _good_ …). When he gives her a little nip, though, she can't help the strangled squeak that pops out, her fingers tangling in his hair again and tugging his head back so she can crush her mouth back to his.

He lets her, sinks back into the cushions with a moan and ends up with both hands on her ass again, kneading, squeezing, as their tongues taste and tangle. The kiss is wet and breathless, and by the end of it, she's ready for more, is craving one thing in particular – his tongue, elsewhere.

She wants to ask for it, there's no reason she _shouldn't_ ask for it – and he's good at it, she knows he is, she has vivid memories of that night in London, of turning her face into his pillow to stifle herself as she'd come on his tongue. But those butterflies flare up again, rioting in her middle, choking her voice when she opens her mouth to make the request. For half a second, she just looks at him, breath held, and then she kisses him again, because it's better than gaping at him like a fish.

Robin's on to her, though, parting their lips after mere seconds, and asking, "What is it?"

He doesn't pull back, doesn't put any space between them, and Regina is grateful for it, because it means their faces are so close that they go blurry if she opens her eyes. So she doesn't, she keeps them closed to say, "Could you, um—" And then, "I stopped asking Leo to go down on me after about year two; he never really improved, and it was… just an exercise in frustration."

She has a hand half on his cheek, so she feels the way he smiles before he pecks another kiss to her lips, and urges her, "Lie back."

Regina can't help the little moan that spills out of her, or the way her hands shake slightly as she moves to do just that, climbing off his lap and settling along the sofa as Robin slips off to kneel on the floor.

Movement catches her eye, the TV, an image of a nearly empty Times Square, confetti littering the ground.

"Oh, hey—" she says; Robin looks up at her, and she smiles down and tells him, "Happy New Year."

His brow furrows, his head tilting slightly on a "Wha—?" and Regina points behind him at the TV. Robin cranes his neck around, then turns back to her with a smile and says, "Oh," and then, "I'm going to assume I was kissing you round midnight, so it counts."

Regina giggles (she's not a giggler, but she can't deny that one), and teases, "You might have to do it again – you know, just to be sure."

"Mm, I might," Robin agrees, his palms skating up her thighs and underneath her bunched dress, until he can grasp the waist of her tights, dragging them and her thong down in one easy motion. Regina shifts her legs to help him, then twists a little and tries to find that buried zipper along her side.

When Robin asks what's wrong, she mutters, "Zipper – hold on – want this off."

He says something about wishing he'd known earlier, but then his mouth is busy with the promised kisses, planting one on Regina's knee, then parting her thighs and letting the rest of them climb up, up, up, in a slow line toward her sex.

Regina's breath goes ragged in anticipation, and she finally finds the zipper, yanking at it. It's bunched and loose and doesn't want to come down but she works it halfway and decides that'll do, shimmying the dress down her hips. Robin abandons his task then, much to her disappointment, and helps her wriggle out of it, tossing it down to the other end of the couch and then reaching for her hips and giving them a little tug.

It shifts her sideways a little, gives him better access (he's good and well between her thighs now, leaving her open for him, and she watches his gaze drop down, watches him lick his lips). She's diagonal on his cushy couch, her head in the corner where the arm meets the back, her back supported by the deep cushion, her right foot finding purchase on the coffee table and spreading her open even more for him.

She feels his fingertips tracing gently at the top of her thigh, up, over, down her sex, and he murmurs, "God, you're wet," as his digits sink down along where she is, yes, so very, very, wet.

"Mmhmm," she sighs, her breath catching as she watches him bend his head down. She can't really see him – the light is low, and his face is in a shadowy place, but she can feel the moment he makes contact with her, his tongue licking gently at her clit. All the air rushes out of her, one hand dropping to cup loosely at the back of his head, and then he licks at her again and she moans.

This is going to be quick. She can already tell. Her clit is _so_ sensitive, so responsive to every lick, her thigh twitching when he sucks softly, a little whine sounding in the back of her throat. He sucks again, longer, slower, sucking her in and then pulling back until she slips from his lips, and Regina lets out this sound, this throaty " _guhh…"_ He does it again (" _Mmmmnahh…")_ and once more (" _Oh_ ** _God_ **_…"_ ) and then he switches to these tapping little flicks of his tongue, right against her clit, and she lets out an "OH!"

The pleasure zings under her skin, sparking little currents of it with every flick of his tongue, making her hips twitch and jerk, making her cry out. And then there are strong hands on her hips, holding her still as he sucks at her once, then goes back to that flickering lick, and Regina feels a rush of shivers and then a bloom of heat, and then it swamps her.

She comes with another cry, her fingers clenching in Robin's hair, and there is no way, no way in _hell_ or anywhere else that she is going another decade without having her clit licked. To her utter delight, he's not stopping, just holding her hips tighter and licking harder, faster, until she's writhing and moaning and gripping the couch cushions as she quakes under the onslaught.

He keeps it up until her gasping cries become plaintive little whines, until she's squirming and breathing, "Too much, too much." He turns his head, then, sucking a damp kiss to her inner thigh, and Regina goes boneless. He gives her another kiss, another, another, the hands that had been at her hips moving to stroke up and down the outside of her thighs as she tries to catch her breath.

"My God…" she pants; his answering chuckle puffs air against her sensitive skin and she shivers, then laughs when he has the audacity to ask if that was good. Regina lifts her head and grins down at him, asking, "You couldn't tell?"

There's just enough light for her to make out his face (smug, and rightfully so) as he tells her, "I could, but it's still nice to hear."

She pushes playfully at his head, thinking what a delightfully flirty idiot he is. But he's earned a little praise, that's for damn sure, so she tells him, "It was incredible. I'm sorry it was so quick."

Robin bends his head to kiss her thigh again, the other one this time, and murmurs, "I'm glad to hear it; I wasn't finished."

His fingers find her then, first one, and then another, and then both together sinking into her and drawing out a gasp. She " _Oh"_ s in pleased surprise, eyes dropping shut as they begin to move. But when he bends his mouth to her again, his tongue stroking along her clit, the sensation has her hissing and twitching and gasping, "Not yet. I need—" she swallows dryly "—I need a minute. And maybe some water."

Robin sits back, his fingers still pumping lazily inside her as he reaches for the half-empty bottle of champagne, taking a quick sip of it himself before offering it over.

It's not water, but it's wet, it'll do, so Regina takes it and gulps down a few swallows. It's not very cold anymore, and it fizzes and bubbles in her throat, but it gets rid of the dryness and gives her over-sensitive nerve endings another minute to settle.

She sets the bottle down on the floor, since Robin's hands are busy at the moment – one inside her, one holding her thigh as he plants another little cluster of kisses in the center of it. Regina had no idea how much she enjoyed having her thighs lavished in kisses until tonight, but now she's not sure she can ever live without it again.

Once she's settled, he moves back in, those kisses climbing up, up, his arm shifting to drape over her hips and hold her steady for him as the movement of his fingers grows more pointed, firmer, a little quicker. He's not quite where she needs him, but he's close, and she can tell he's looking, seeking, testing different angles and depths until he finds the one that makes her moan deep in her throat. He presses again just there, harder, and her thighs clench, her back arching, and she hears a low, "Right there?" as she scrunches her eyes shut.

"Right there," she breathes in confirmation, delicious little pulses radiating out from his fingers and drawing more little moans from her throat.

She feels his breath on her sex a moment before his tongue finds her clit again, and this time it's not that squirmy pleasure-pain, it's just _good_. Regina moans encouragingly, fingers tangling in his hair again and holding him to her as he stirs her up.

For several minutes, this is all she's aware of – just Robin's tongue experimenting with all the ways she likes her clit teased while he thumps right against her G-spot. He gives her these hard, petting licks, and softer, fluttery ones that make her gasp and tremble and whine. He likes those, or rather _she_ likes those, so he keeps returning to them every few seconds, even when he starts to suck at her – hard, and then soft, and then quick, pulsing little sucks that have her hips pressing up against the arm over her middle, his name like a mantra on her lips.

And then those little licks that both soothe the intensity and rile her up even more, and there is not a single thought in her head except _More…_

When his fingers change pace, it's all over. She's a moaning, whispering mess already, and then he starts fucking her faster, harder, switches to those pulsing little sucks on her clit again, and she's a goner. The cry she lets out this time puts her first orgasm to shame, a throaty shout of, "OH, yes!" as she curls in on herself and holds him tight against her with her grip on his hair.

Her brain shuts off for a second, she's all body, all pleasure, all noises that would embarrass her with their eagerness if she had any mind to care at the moment.

But she doesn't, God, she doesn't, it's all bliss.

And then he eases off, and she collapses into the cushions, sweaty and panting and so, so happy she came home for Christmas this year.

Fuck.

That was…

Christ.

He's kissing up her body now, fingers slipping out of her and drawing a damp trail up her torso until they can cup her breast. He sucks her nipples again, and she whimpers and laughs softly, because, God, they're not even done yet, not even close to done, and she already feels like there's stardust in her veins.

She's _tingling_ , her thighs shaky, her limbs clumsy as she tugs him up the rest of the way for a proper kiss. She can taste herself on his tongue, can feel the dampness on his beard, and it makes her moan and clutch him tighter.

His mouth veers off down her jaw, her neck, and his voice is low and needy when he pleads, "Regina… I want you."

She nods, and scrapes her fingers along his scalp, then urges, "Bedroom. I don't want to have sex on the couch."

Robin's tongue swirls over her still-racing pulse, and then he agrees.

 **.::.**

Robin is so hard he's fairly certain he could cut glass.

Listening to her, feeling her, tasting her on his tongue, fuck, God, he doesn't think he's ever been more turned on in his life. For a second there during her last orgasm, he'd thought he might suffocate between her thighs, her grip pressing his face hard against her, her thighs closing around his ears as she'd shouted and twitched, but, God, what a way to go.

And now she's lying there all debauched on his sofa (will he ever be able to sit here again without thinking of this and getting a rager of a stiffy?), running a hand through her own hair as she catches her breath.

"I just need to get feeling back in my legs and then we'll go," she tells him with a dopey smile, and he can't help feeling rather proud to have worked her up into such a state. Especially considering that useless tosser of a man she was married to hadn't managed to in, oh, nine years or so.

What a bloody waste, is all he can think. Having this gorgeous woman in your bed and not taking full advantage of every possible way to enjoy her body. She looks every bit as amazing in her birthday suit as she had the first time he'd seen her this way, and if it didn't make him feel like a bit of a creep, he'd just sit here and stare at her for a while.

Instead, he runs one hand along her calf, drops the other to "adjust" his trousers, rubbing over his cock for a moment to give himself some relief.

"You are so gorgeous," he murmurs, and her smile warms, her head shakes.

"I'm sure this isn't my most flattering angle," she tells him – it's a load of lies, that, but before he can tell her so, she's sitting up and reaching for him, pulling him in for another warm kiss. He can't get enough of kissing her, now that he's started. He's kissed away all her lipstick, has grown rather fond of the way her breath catches when he gives that lower lip a gentle nibble, but if she winds her legs around his waist like she's doing right now, they'll never make it to the bedroom.

So Robin summons all his self-control and reaches for her knees, urging them apart and scooting back, repeating her earlier order of, "Bedroom." And adding, "Before I ravish you right here on the sofa."

Regina giggles – and who knew she had _that_ sound in her. He hasn't heard it since they were in college, that smitten little giggle. Not since she and Daniel were snuggled up on the opposite side of a booth at Granny's while he and Marian were much the same.

He doesn't want to think of them now, though – his past love, and hers – not when he's about to lead her to his bedroom and have his way with her.

He pushes the thought aside and stands on knees that creak from too much time spent on them (he doesn't regret going for that second orgasm, not for a moment, not even with the way he's beginning to ache with need). But when he looks back at Regina, she's drawn an arm across her torso, her lip caught in her teeth as she glances tentatively up at him.

"What's wrong?" he asks her. Please, God, don't let her be changing her mind _now_. He might die of need.

Regina doesn't answer at first, just fumbles around along the back of the cushions for a second, and then the dewy glow of her skin nearly disappears on him as she shrugs into his button-down. She fastens only the middle button, but it's still far too much.

"I'm very naked," she points out, "And you're not."

Robin glances down and realizes she's right – he's still in socks and trousers while she's completely starkers. Or was, anyway. His borrowed button-down seems to have shifted the balance enough that she's comfortable again, because she's standing and pressing against him, her hands dipping down into his back pockets and squeezing before she murmurs, "Bed. Now."

Robin is only too happy to oblige.

His bedroom is not far, by any means, but it takes a bit longer than usual to get there, what with all the times they stop to trade warm kisses, his hands stealing beneath that shirt to grope at her ass, her breasts. She reaches for his belt when they're halfway there, unbuckling it and popping open the button of his trousers before he's pushing her along the way again.

By the time they reach the bedroom, he's unzipped, too, and she's already snuck a hand down to give his cock a quick rub that had them both moaning into each other's mouths.

He flips the light on, for once grateful that the switch goes to his bedside lamp rather than the brighter stand lamp in the corner. He wants to see her (desperately wants to see her), but the transition from the low light of the living room to the white fluorescent in the bedroom would have been jarring. Thankfully, that bedside lamp is muted and warm, inviting even.

Speaking of inviting, Regina leaves him there by the door and heads for the bed (he's busy shoving his pants and shorts down now, then bending to tug at a sock). She sits, then releases that single button and lets the shirt gape open to reveal her toned belly, her stiffened nipples.

Robin's jaw goes slack at the sight of her, at the way she leans back onto her hands and tilts her head a little, teasing him to, "Hurry up. I have some sinful things of my own in mind."

Right, then.

Robin reaches down to yank off his other sock, eager to get back to her. Perhaps a little _too_ eager, in fact, because he overbalances slightly and wobbles, shooting a hand out to the wall to steady himself.

He hears her stifled laugh before he sees it, looking up to find her trying to school the smirk off her face.

"Shut it, you," he grins, finally getting that sock off and prowling toward her as she insists with faux innocence that she didn't say a word. Robin chuckles and shakes his head, telling her, "I heard you laughing."

She's grinning up at him when he closes the distance between them, cupping her jaw and kissing her warmly. She hums against his mouth, shrugs out of his shirt, and wraps her arms around his neck. But when Robin leans in to ease her back toward the mattress, she breaks the kiss with a shake of her head.

"I want to be on top," Regina whispers, and, well, who is he to argue with that?

He breathes, "Okay," kissing her again before they rearrange themselves. Robin stretches out along the mattress, watching as Regina straddles his hips, her hand dropping down to pump his cock slowly. He's starved for touch after being so focused on her, so even just that has him arching a little and letting out a quiet groan. He has no idea how he's going to last once he's inside her.

It's a problem that's not helped by the way she she murmurs, "I'll be right back," and scoots further down the bed, wrapping her lips around his head and sucking him in slowly.

Robin breathes out a soft, "Christ, Regina," as his toes curl.

She draws back until she can circle her tongue over his tip (he swallows down a moan and fights not to twitch), then she bobs up and down a few times before pulling off slowly, sucking firmly as she does. Robin lets loose a ragged breath and fists the sheets, then chokes out a laugh when she murmurs teasingly that she did say she wanted to do better things with her mouth.

"Fucking wonderful," he tells her, but when she bends to take him in her mouth again, he brings a hand to her jaw and stops her. "I can't," he swallows, thumb running over her chin, her lower lip. "I hate to admit it, but I have some concerns about my ability to last, and that feels too good. I don't want to pop too soon."

"Mm," she hums, nipping at the pad of his thumb. "We'd hate to have a repeat of _my_ performance."

Robin chuckles, then breaks off into a quiet moan when his thumb disappears between her lips, her tongue swirling around it as she sucks it in, teeth grazing as she draws back.

"Stop that," he whispers, sounding not at all like he means it. But it had made his cock pulse and jerk slightly, and he's trying _not_ to overheat and come like a schoolboy here.

Regina just grins, very much aware of what she's doing.

It crosses his mind then that she'd told him earlier she hasn't had _good_ sex in a decade, and Robin finds himself suddenly angry on her behalf. Nobody this sexy should be spending their prime having mediocre sex, it's like a crime against nature.

But that was then, and this is now. And _now_ , Robin is determined to give her a thorough seeing-to.

So he reaches for her, urging her back up until they're kissing heatedly again, her thighs on either side of his hips again, his hands full of her breasts again. On a break for air, she murmurs, "We don't need a condom, unless you want…?"

"God, no," he moans, stealing another kiss from her. "I want to feel you."

She nods, her mouth pressed against his again, _his_ bottom lip being sucked at and treated to a teasing bite. Robin reaches down between them, grasping his cock and dragging it through her wetness, rubbing the head against her clit. His breath hitches, or maybe it's hers, maybe it's both of them, and then there are soft fingertips against his length, guiding him home.

When she lowers herself onto him, she releases this throaty moan of satisfaction that would have him feeling incredibly smug if he wasn't so focused on how bloody _amazing_ she feels. She's hot and slick around him and fuck, God, it's been so long. Robin grips her hips hard; he needs a minute—just a minute—to rein himself in, so he doesn't spill over almost immediately when she starts to slide that wet heat all around his eager cock.

She's still close enough to kiss, leaning in and covering his mouth with hers again, their tongues tangling. There's an intimacy to it now, a closeness that hadn't been there even moments ago. But it's there now, as she rocks her hips just enough to work him deeper inside her, until they're pressed snugly together. Their lips part with a wet little smack, Regina's brow pressing to his as she whispers, "You feel so good."

"You, too," Robin groans, finally letting go of her hips and letting his palms run down her thighs and back up.

She asks, "Can I…?" and Robin nods, and swallows.

And then she starts to move.

It's slow at first, Regina drawing up until it's only his tip left inside her, then sinking down with another of those appreciative moans. Up again, and then down. When she sits back a moment later (she sinks down even deeper onto his cock and gasps), Robin drops his gaze to watch them come together and apart, over and over. He probably shouldn't, because she feels like a fucking _dream_ , and watching her take him in again and again, knowing that it's her, that it's them… It's not helping his self-control any.

But Robin has missed this – has missed _her_ , silly as that sounds – and he wants to savor the moment. So he watches them, watches her, as she picks up the pace a bit, riding him a little faster, a little harder. Her breathing is ragged (his is, too); when he looks up, their eyes meet, and he moans at the sight of her – mouth open, jaw slack with pleasure as she fucks him. She's got her hands braced on his belly, and as she moves even harder, even faster, Robin feels her fingers curl, her nails digging into his skin as she lets out this unbearably sexy little cry and tips her head back.

" _Oh_ , you feel—! My God, Robin…. Mmm!"

She's nirvana, she's bloody heaven, the feel of her around him, the heated, slick slippery slide of her. She's still soaked from before and it's as if she's only getting wetter as she takes him more eagerly – and God is she ever eager, especially when Robin brings a thumb to her clit, rubbing it in rhythm with the pace they've set.

"Oh, _God_ , yes! Mm! Just like— Oh, there, right there, oh God there…" she babbles, lifting a hand to fist the hair at her crown as she ruts against him, the picture of wanton abandon, a bloody goddess, a queen, God, she's incredible. The pace she's set is wonderful, maddening, and he can feel the pleasure churning low in his gut, can feel his balls growing tighter as she moves over him, her breasts bouncing right in front of his face, tempting him, God, she's so gorgeous.

Robin lifts his head just enough to catch a nipple between his lips and suck firmly at it, groaning as Regina responds by moaning encouragements and riding him even more enthusiastically.

Fuck, this is too good.

She switches to these shorter thrusts – deep, but not as long, and quicker than before, and Robin has to stop watching her. It feels too good, and she looks incredible, and he can tell that she is _loving_ this, but he's not sure she's there yet, not sure she's about to come – and he just might be if he's not careful. So he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of her, the sound of her, fuck, this is not helping. She's moaning and gasping, and so warm and so wet, and oh God, oh, fuck…

Robin feels that telltale tightening low in his groin and reaches for her hips, pulling her up and off him on her next rise – much to her chagrin.

"What's wrong?" Regina pants, frowning down at him; for a second all Robin can do is shake his head.

Then he says, "I'm too close, I have to— Let me eat you out for a minute."

He doesn't have to offer twice.

Regina lets out a little moan of anticipation and nods, climbing up his torso (she presses kisses all the way up, bites at one of his nipples and makes him arch and groan) while he scoots down a bit so she can straddle his face. Robin wraps his arms around her thighs and tugs her down to him, running his tongue through her folds and then sucking at her clit.

He doesn't waste time teasing, doesn't try to draw this out – he's aching to come, and they've already had plenty of foreplay. This is about reaching that peak, now, so he sucks at her a few times, then switches to that quick, firm flicking of his tongue against her clit that had made her come the first time.

The sound she lets out is absolutely glorious, a high, keening sort of moan, and her fingers end up back in his hair, one hand tangling there and gripping, tugging. Her hips start to rock, jerking a bit here and there, but definitely grinding against him as well, and Robin has to tighten his grip on her as he sucks hard at her clit again and makes her shout.

"Oh, God like that like that – oh! – mm! – _fuck,_ Robin, I'm close…"

Thank Christ.

He moans around her clit – this is what he'd been waiting for, for her to be that little bit closer while he was that little bit further off. So he gives her one final, sucking kiss and then drops his head back and tells her to, "Fuck me, darling."

Regina scoots down, reaches for his cock again and then takes him to the hilt with a pleasured cry.

"That's it," he urges, hands on her hips for a moment while she finds her rhythm, and then he's sending one down to her clit, one up to tease a nipple. "Oh, fuck, you feel incredible, love…" She gasps _You, too!_ and cries out again, and Robin moans, rubbing her clit harder and urging, "Come for me, come on me, you feel so good, d-darling – _oh fuck – mm!_ Oh, love, I'm – mm! – I'm gonna—"

Fuck, _fuck_ , he hadn't spent long enough not fucking her, he's still too close to hold back while she's rutting so enthusiastically on top of him.

But thankfully she lets out this uninhibited moan of pleasure and chases it with a gasped, "Me too! Oh, mm! Me toooo," and he thinks he can hold out for her. He hopes he can.

Robin grits his teeth against the tightening, churning need in his gut and presses his thumb harder against her clit. But after seventeen seconds (he knows, because he's started to count them as a distraction to hold himself back), she still hasn't come and he's so close he can practically taste it.

He's been rocking up to meet her thrusts for a while, but now he reaches for her hand, nudging it down between her thighs, his voice rough and needy as he pleads, "Rub your clit for me."

He sees Regina's brow knit slightly, but she does it, slides her fingers down to where his had been and rubs at herself.

Perfect.

Robin moves both hands to her hips, shifts to plant his feet on the mattress and on her next pass down, he fucks up into her, hard. Regina lets out a startled cry, but a _good_ one, and nods frantically as Robin does it again, again, again, going for broke in the hope it'll get them both where they need to be.

It's maybe a dozen thrusts before she's stiffening and letting out a wail of pleasure, her hand losing its rhythm between her thighs as orgasm grips her. Her hips jerk and pitch in his grasp but Robin holds tight, riding out the wave as long as he can, biting into his bottom lip until he tastes copper, because Regina is damn near screaming at the pleasure of him fucking her through her orgasm.

When he can't take it anymore – his heart hammering, his cock aching, his balls tight, his skin sheened with sweat – Robin drives deep one more time and lets himself come inside her with a loud groan. The release is ecstatic, pleasure pinging through his body like a well-served pinball, knocking through his middle, his limbs, everything. He fucks up into her for another few deep passes as he spills everything he has into her, and then they both collapse. Utterly spent.

Regina flops down onto his chest with a grateful moan, her skin slick and hot just like his, their chests and bellies pressing into each other as they pant heavily.

Robin lifts a suddenly-heavy hand to tangle in her hair and urge her toward him so he can press a kiss to her brow. Regina tilts her head up with a quiet moan, one hand tugging his head down until they can kiss lazily again, tongues tangling languidly, lips pressing, sliding, catching, releasing.

Eventually, their mouths part, noses bumping tenderly before Regina shifts up off her knees with a little grunt and stretches out along Robin's side, one of her legs sliding between his. She pillows her head on his chest, over his still-slowing heart, and begins to trace patterns over his skin with gentle fingertips, the tickling sensation combining with the chill of drying sweat to raise goosebumps across his skin.

It's quiet and tender, a sort of peaceful hush he's reluctant to break, but he can't help wondering if she's cold (he rakes his fingers lazily down her ribs, and she shivers and presses closer to him). Robin nuzzles into her hair, presses a kiss there, and asks softly, "Do you need a blanket?"

"Mm, I'm alright," she rasps, her voice warm and velvety; it hits Robin somewhere in the middle of his chest, the sound of her, the intimacy of the moment. He has a truly terrible thought: _They should have done this sooner_.

It's ridiculous – they couldn't have. One or the other of them had always been taken. But lying here like this, with her, he can't help thinking of all the other times he's seen her, all the ways they've ebbed and flowed throughout the years, and one thing is suddenly crystal clear: He has wanted her, far more than he ought to have, for far longer than he'd care to admit. Having her pressed against him now feels right, like it ought to be this way all the time.

It's far too sappy a thought for a New Year's romp, especially considering she's leaving the day after tomorrow.

Robin tries to push the thought from his mind – she's here now, and he wants to enjoy every moment of that while he can. So he tightens his arm around her shoulder and sighs, murmuring, "Marian, forgive me—" Regina lifts her head at that, her brows risen up and a look of questioning suspicion on her face as if she thinks she's about it have to remind him she is not, in fact, Marian. "—but I've wanted to do _that_ since that Christmas a decade ago."

Regina snorts a laugh, dropping her forehead to his chest as her shoulders shake. When she lifts her head again, she's looking at him in amused disbelief, her voice colored with it, too, when she says, "Wow… You really went there, huh?"

"No use lying about it now," Robin figures, shrugging his shoulders as best he can.

Regina's smile softens, goes a bit more wry, as she agrees, "Mm. I suppose."

She shifts a little, wriggles up and settles her elbow across his shoulder, propping her head on her hand. The move makes him suddenly aware of the slippery wetness that had been leaking from her and onto his thigh.

He's not particularly bothered by it – the opposite, in fact. It brings him back to the moment he'd finally let go inside of her, to that punch of bliss, the relief of release. He's barely caught his breath from having her and he wants her again. And again.

That desperate ache for her to stay here in Storybrooke with him resurfaces; he doesn't want her to drive away from this town again and stay away for months on end.

But she will, he can't help that, so Robin pushes it down, back, and focuses on the past instead of the future. He strokes the length of her spine as he muses, "I'm not really sure how we managed to stop ourselves that night, to be honest. I loved her, but, God, I wanted you."

The corner of her mouth turns up in something he wouldn't call a smile, not with the air of self-loathing beneath it. It's not the look he wants her wearing while she's still damp with sweat and leaking his cum. Maybe he shouldn't have brought this up at all.

She doesn't seem angry, though – not even when she mutters, "I think the moment of clarity that you were about to cheat on your _fiancée,_ with one of her _friends_ , was a sobering realization for both of us."

"True," he concedes. "It definitely was that. I'm still sorry that it did so much damage to your friendship with her."

Regina frowns, her brow furrowing, her lip jutting out in a confused pout that he very much wants to kiss (not the time, he thinks – not while they're talking about this).

"Why are _you_ sorry?" she asks him; she's always blamed herself, he knows, and he wishes she wouldn't.

"Because I kissed you first," he reminds, just in case she's forgotten that it was him who'd been first to give in to the alcohol-soaked temptation.

"I kissed you back," Regina counters. "I could have stopped you – I _should_ have stopped you."

"You were upset," he says to her, trailing his fingers up her shoulder, over her neck and into her hair (she shivers, and sighs). "And drunk."

Robin scratches lightly at her nape in a way that makes Regina's eyes slip shut, her voice a soft sigh as she tells him, "No excuse."

They lapse into silence again for a moment – she's right, they hadn't had an excuse, and they both know it. Nothing other than too much whiskey, too much latent attraction. Too little self-control. But it was ages ago, a lifetime ago – literally, for the injured party. Rehashing it is pointless, so he decides to simply… stop.

To lie here with her instead, without the grip of ghosts, and study the way she breathes when he scratches just there and just so. The way her tongue slips out to wet her lips. The way her mascara is smudged a bit beneath her lashes.

She shifts a little, presses closer to him, and he thinks perhaps she's finally getting cold (and if she's not, he is – she's a warm blanket but she only covers so much). So he pecks a kiss to her lips and murmurs, "Let's get under the covers, darling."

Dark eyes flutter open again before she nods, and pulls back (he shivers; her nipples draw tight), and then he's tugging down flannel sheets and a cozy quilt and burrowing their bodies beneath them. They end up on their sides, facing each other, her thigh slung over his hip, his palm cupping the curve of her ass.

She has a hand wandering his ribcage, his side, his hip. It's lulling, cozy; his eyes begin to droop.

And then she asks curiously, "Did you ever tell her about London?"

Robin blinks rapidly to rouse himself, sucking in a breath and squeezing her rear, and then telling her, "Not until after that Christmas. She'd wanted to know if it was the whiskey, or if there was something more between us. I figured it wasn't fair to lie to her while I was coming clean. But I told her it was just the one time, and that it was… only physical."

It had been, mostly. Had been a twist of fortune that they'd both been in the city at the same time, that he'd reached out to her. He'd never meant for them to end up in bed together, neither of them had. But broken hearts are magnetic, and rare opportunities to indulge curiosities mustn't go to waste.

If memory serves, they'd been hitting his father's mulled wine rather indulgently, too. (It occurs to him that every time they've ended up in each other's arms there's been alcohol involved, tonight included, and he wonders if that says something about them.)

Regina's gone quiet, aside from a single nod after what he'd said. She's staring intently at his shoulder, her fingers still spiraling somewhere near his kidney. He wonders if she's perhaps a bit _too_ quiet, and hopes that he hadn't managed to somehow offend her with his answer.

Glutton for punishment, he can't help asking, "Was it? For you?"

She blinks, like he's startled her out of her thoughts, and asks, "Was it just physical?" Then, off his nod, she says slowly, "It was… comforting. I wasn't ready yet to move on from Daniel. Not in any _real_ way. But I missed being touched, being close to someone – someone I liked. I didn't want a one-night stand with a stranger, I wanted… well, what we did, I suppose. Something with no strings, but at least some amount of _feeling_. So I guess it wasn't _only_ physical, but it wasn't… I wasn't…"

She flounders a bit, her brow pinching as she tries to verbalize her meaning, but she needn't bother.

"I get it," he tells her, lifting his hand to tuck a lock of hair back behind her ear. "It was complicated."

Regina smiles appreciatively, her fingers pressing against his back in a little squeeze.

"Exactly," she says, and then she seems to relax, her fingers taking up their wandering again as she asks, "What about you? Was it… more than you let on at the time?"

"It was complicated," he repeats, with a wry smile. "I loved her, even though we were broken up for that little while. That had been her choice, not mine. And I loved you too, as a friend. I'd always wanted you, wondered what it would be like to kiss you, or… be with you." He pulls her closer, steals a kiss and lets his hand wander back down to cup her breast, to thumb her nipple. He bumps his nose against hers when they part, murmuring warmly just a breath from her lips, "It was a very, very fond memory. One I revisited more than is probably polite to admit."

He feels her chuckle against him, and then she's humming into a kiss, and telling him, "Me, too." Her lips meet his again, warm and seeking, so he shouldn't be surprised when she whispers between kisses, "Maybe we should… make another memory…"

He shouldn't be, but he is – pleasantly so, but surprised nonetheless. They've only just come down from their last, uh, "memory-making."

But surprise or no, he's not turning down a chance to make love to her again. So Robin grins, easing her onto her back as he agrees, "I think that sounds like a great idea."


	8. January 1

_**Author's Note:** Here it is! The final chapter. I hope you guys enjoyed this little holiday jaunt. Now it's time to get back to our regular programming. :)_

* * *

When Regina wakes in the morning, it's to warm blankets, soft touches, and a vague tackiness between her thighs left over from last night.

She smiles at the memory – last night had been amazing.

A freeing rush of being perfectly connected with someone, with _Robin_. Nobody else in the world to worry about, no expectations, or limitations, or judgments. For the first time in God knows how long, she'd been able to simply let go and enjoy herself.

And, God, had she ever enjoyed herself.

Their second round had been less frantic than the first but no less passionate. After she'd decided they'd spent enough time wandering memory lane, they'd ended up kissing again. A lot. They're good at that – the kissing. In fact, Regina is fairly certain that she's been kissed more in the last twelve hours than in the last twelve months.

Somewhere in the middle of things, he'd murmured against her mouth that she was 'quite a good kisser' and she'd grinned and vowed to show him just _how_ good before ducking under the covers to give him a more proper blow job than the few lingering sucks she'd given him before she'd straddled him earlier.

This time, he'd let her, rewarding her with groans, and quiet curses, and tensing, jumpy thigh muscles as she'd laved her tongue along his length, taken him in her mouth, pressed her lips over him from root to tip. Eventually, he'd pulled her back up for more kisses, moaning into her mouth and flipping her onto her back, running a hand down her belly and slipping two fingers inside her. (He'd moaned again, then, too – his pleasure had spurred her own, and so she'd already been wet and responsive, arching into his touch with a gasp.)

It hadn't taken long for her to be ready for him again, and the feel of him sinking inside her had been just as wonderful the second time as it had been the first. She'd reveled in every little bit of the sensation, from his hips moving against the cradle of her thighs to his weight pressing her into the mattress to the kisses he'd started sucking along her shoulders, her neck. At one point, he'd hiked his elbows under her knees, levered himself up slightly, and made her see stars.

When she came, it was with her arms wound around his neck, his groin grinding hard into her clit with every thrust, and the slick slide of sweat between their bellies from all their generated heat trapped under the blankets.

She'd fallen asleep not long after, sprawled over the sheets beside him, her body sated and her heart soothed.

And now here she is, spooned up against him in the early (late? She has no idea…) morning hours. There's a hand on her breast, a thumb rubbing lazily over a stiffened nipple, and an erection pressed up against her rear end.

Regina has no idea how long he's been toying with her nipple, but it's been long enough for her to wake aroused and wanting him again.

She also wants a toothbrush. Badly.

The sugary sweetness of just enough champagne has left her mouth feeling stale – she's almost reluctant to turn in his arms and say good morning. Almost, but not quite – it's been hours since she's kissed him, and that simply won't do. Not when there are so few kissing hours left before she goes back to D.C.

So Regina smiles, and stretches (grinding her ass back against his erection as she does and enjoying his little groan in response), and then she rolls until she's on her back beside him, her hip cradled in his big spoon now. He looks as sleepy and satisfied as she feels – his blue eyes warm in the morning light, his dimples peeking out at her from either side of a smile.

That hand that had been on her breast strokes down her belly instead, and back up, as she murmurs a scratchy, sleepy, "Hi."

"Hello, darling," he answers, his own voice rough from lack of use.

And then he's kissing her again, those slow, morning kisses she remembers from lovers past. She tries not to think about the state of her breath or the tackiness of dried sweat and cum on her skin as she rolls the rest of the way and weaves her legs with his.

By the time he rasps, "Did you sleep well?" against her mouth, he has one arm tucked beneath her head, the other on her ass, his hard length pressed between them and grinding lazily against where Regina is increasingly wet. She hums an affirmative, and kisses him again; it's the last coherent thing they say for quite some time.

That hand on her ass ends up between them, somewhere in the midst of tongue-filled kisses and wandering explorations of each other's shoulders and necks and collars with hungry mouths. He strokes her clit, rubs it in little circles that make her breath catch as she reaches down to wrap her fingers around his cock and pump it slowly.

She wants him inside her again, wants all of _this_ inside her again, thick and strong and sure as they rock together toward another release.

And she's wet enough, ready enough, so she hikes her knee a little higher on his hip, presses closer and drags the tip of him down past his fingers, through her wetness, to guide him inside her. They both moan quietly as they come together, his grip shifting to grasp at her thigh as their hips begin to rend and sew.

They keep the rhythm slow, languid, their hips rolling against each other like waves. It's not enough to make her come, but it's _good_ , enough to make her pant and sweat and moan. Enough to have her dragging her nails lightly down his back as she breathes a drawn-out, "Fuck…"

Mouths meet and part and meet again, and when Robin isn't gripping her thigh, he's cupping her breast, rolling her nipples, murmuring quiet encouragements as she arches her back slightly and lets out a high, needy moan.

They fuck just like that for long minutes, working up a sweat beneath the covers until finally she pushes at them, the shock of cool air making her hiss. Robin draws her into another warm kiss, then asks, "Is this enough for you?"

His voice has the low heat of embers well-stoked, and it makes her toes curl, makes her want him even more, even as she breathes, "No, not quite, but – _ohh…_ – it's still good."

Their mouths meet again, tongues teasing against each other, Regina biting gently at Robin's lower lip and grinning when it makes the breath rush out of him. And then he retaliates (she thinks) by stopping and pulling out of her.

She frowns, asks, "What are you—"

He cuts her off, hands on her hips as he urges, "Turn around; let me rub your clit."

Oh. Well, that's a whole different story.

Regina turns onto her other side, the way she was when they woke, shimmying her rear end back against him once more. This time, he's waiting for her, guiding his cock up and into her, and it hits her at just the right angle to have her gasping.

"Good?" His voice is warm against her ear, his breath tickling her neck. Regina nods fervently and he draws back, thrusts in again, then starts a steady rhythm. Faster than before, but by no means fast. Enough to get the job done, though – especially when he skates a hand down her belly to rub her clit as promised.

His fingertips press circles against her in time with the pace he fucks her, and soon they're both grunting and gasping and moaning. _Oh yes, there!_ And _Fuck, you feel so…_ and _Mm, God, don't stop_ and _So good_ and _Fuuuck_ and _Oh, I'm gonna—_ and _Let go, darling, come for me_ and _Oh, love, oh… fuck… mm!_

He has to hold tight to her hip when she comes to keep her from bucking him out of her as she jerks and shakes and breaks apart at the seams with bliss. He keeps moving inside her as she comes, just like last night, and every thrust into her clenching, coming body makes pleasure bloom again and again. By the time he grips her hard and drives home one last time, coming inside her again, her heart is beating like a drum, her skin slippery with sweat, her fingers clenching in the pillows, the sheets.

He doesn't pull out, just curls more tightly around her and presses more kisses to her shoulders as she waits for her breathing to return to normal and her limbs to stop feeling little aftershock tremors of pleasure.

They fall asleep again, spooned together like that, and wake half an hour later when they've used up all the extra body heat of exerting themselves and wind up cold.

He's slipped out of her by then, leaving another dribbling, slick puddle on her upper thighs, and the first thought on Regina's mind is, "I really need a shower."

Robin chuckles from where he's sat up to reach for those covers they'd shoved down earlier, flopping back to the mattress beside her and tugging them up as he goes.

"I mean it," she grins. "I stink, and I'm covered in, well… you."

Robin doesn't look the least bit put off by her state. In fact, he just looks smug. Sounds smug, too, when he says, "Just evidence of a night well spent. And you don't stink."

"I smell like sweat and sex," she argues, but he only shrugs, and presses a kiss to her shoulder.

"As I'm the one you had sex with, I don't think you really need to worry about that."

He has a point, she concedes with a lift of her brow. But be that as it may, "I do have to leave here eventually – I have brunch plans, you see. If I haven't already missed them."

"Ah, yes, you may have mentioned those," he teases, craning back to look at the clock. "Our reservation's in forty minutes; you've some time." It's the only day of the year one needs a reservation for a seat at Granny's Diner; the people of Storybrooke don't mess around about New Year's brunch – they need something to soak up all the champagne Granny served them the night before. "Unless you just want to stay in."

It's tempting – spending the whole day wrapped up in each other here. But she'll have to answer to her mother and sister eventually – after all, she was supposed to come home last night. They're probably making snowman pancakes without her right now and having to artfully explain to Ophelia why Auntie isn't in the house this morning. (Oops.)

And besides, "I only have one day to use that free breakfast voucher," she reminds him. "At least, until I come back. I probably shouldn't let it go to waste."

Robin tries very hard to look nonchalant, but does not very much succeed, when he asks, "When do you think you'll be back?"

And, well, that's the question, isn't it?

Regina rakes a hand through the hair at her crown and sighs, staring at the ceiling for a moment before admitting, "My mother wants me to move back permanently. That's why she doesn't want me working for Leo; she wants me here." She shouldn't say it, she really shouldn't, it's her mother's private business – but it's Robin, and she's been brooding on this alone for days, so Regina adds carefully, "She wants me to replace her."

She chances a glance in his direction and finds him predictably surprised. "Replace her?" he repeats. "As in…?"

"As in, she's thinking she'd like to retire, and apparently thinks the mayorship is a title that can be handed down like this is a monarchy."

Robin chuckles, his hand settling warm on her belly and rubbing soothingly from there to her hip. "Your mother would think that."

Regina smirks, and gives her mother a small amount of credit: "She knows I'd have to run – she offered to oversee my campaign. I told her that I don't think I'd win. I haven't lived here in twenty years, I have no experience in government outside of a year as Class President in high school – and I think we can all agree that doesn't _really_ prepare one for actual governing." He smirks, and kisses her shoulder gently. "But she seems to think that if I moved back now, and stayed, and ran when her term is up that I'd be a shoe-in."

For a moment, Robin just looks at her, studying her face. And then he surprises her by saying, "She's probably right."

"What?"

"You may not have lived here in years, but your family has – and you're well-liked. Much more so than your mother. People think you're… well, a bit rich and prissy, I suppose—" She rolls her eyes and mutters, _Gee, thanks…_ "—but I think the assumption is that one apple didn't fall particularly far from the tree, in that regard. But you're smart – you were wasted here, with the Harvard degree, and the fancy husband, and all that. You were always going to leave. But unlike your mother, you lack the tendency to occasionally make it seem like you think you're _better_ than the people you left behind. You understand how this town works – you've seen firsthand what it takes to govern it. You're a part of this place, and if you wanted it, and you put your mind to it, I think you could win."

He's all sincerity, all honest eyes and earnest faith in her. Right up until he smirks and adds, "And I'm not just saying that so you'll stay where I can seduce you on a regular basis."

She rolls her eyes, a little laugh breaking free at his teasing. It's not as though that reason hasn't crossed her mind in the last few days – maybe with less _seducing_ and more _possible dating_ , but after last night she's not going to pretend that the world-rocking orgasms aren't a draw.

But she can't move back for orgasms alone. That's far too much pressure to put on a new relationship – and they don't even _have_ a relationship. They just have this – a couple of one-night stands, and a long history. She doesn't even know if he _wants_ a relationship. So she can't move back here unless she has something other than Robin to do with her time.

And maybe she could win if she ran, but…

"I'm not sure I _do_ want it," she tells him, shifting her leg until it's slung over his bent knees (she doesn't realize quite how much it splays her until Robin moves that hand from her hip to her thigh). She licks her lips and swallows, and says, "It'd be a big change."

"It would," Robin agrees with a nod, drawing little tickling zig-zags over her skin. They're relatively tame, though – not wandering, not moving any closer to her sex – so she tells herself to cool her hormones while he's asking, "But you don't have to decide right now, do you?"

"No." She doesn't, she supposes. "I have time." A particular pass of his index finger makes her shiver, and she smiles, and teases, "To be honest, this probably isn't the best time to be making big decisions – when I'm all sex-addled, and you're touching me like that. I might do something impulsive like never leave here."

Robin's hand freezes, and he grins. "I changed my mind; decide right this minute."

Regina giggles, closing her thighs a bit (his hand slides away, and she finds she misses it; she shouldn't have said anything, should have stayed right where she was). "I'll decide after I get back – once I've had a few days of normal. It's a big move – McLean to D.C. felt like a big move and it was nothing. Moving several states away would be an entirely new level of stress." And besides that, "I don't even know where I'd live – _not_ with my mother, that's for sure. With Zelena, maybe? At least until I can find my own place."

Robin bites at his lip and squints a little, like he's trying to decide whether to tell her something or not.

Whatever it is, she'd rather know than wonder. So she ask him, "What?"

He lets that lip go with an a heavy exhale, and tells her slowly, "I don't want you to think I'm attempting to sway your opinion here, but… Arthur Pepperidge died three weeks ago, and I know for a fact his daughter is putting the house on the market once they've got all his affairs sorted and everything moved out."

Regina lets out a little gasp, a punch of longing hitting right in her middle. The Pepperidge house is an old Victorian with cozy blue shingles and white trim, and a long wrapping porch, set on the edge of town on a decently quiet plot of land – one sufficiently far from her mother's.

Regina has loved that house since she was a girl and Fiona Pepperidge was still alive – Fiona had always decorated that porch to the nines, making it a festive beacon for each and every holiday. Jack-o-lanterns, and scarecrows, and gobs and gobs of fake spiderwebs on Halloween (she used to save a caramel apple for Regina instead of the run-of-the-mill candy Mother had a pesky habit of tossing in the trash if it hadn't all been eaten after a few days). Gourds and colorful leaves and dried ears of corn (paper turkeys in the window – old relics from the 50s that Regina has never seen again) on Thanksgiving. She used to wrap the porch rail in pine garland, and holly berries, and—

Robin chuckles, pulling Regina from her reverie. "I feel you're already mentally redecorating."

"More like remembering it in its full glory." Fiona had died when Regina was in her early 20s, and her husband had never quite managed to keep the place to the same standards. "I love that house. I used to imagine it was mine when I was little; it felt like something out of a fairytale."

"I remember – you went on and on about it one year when you were home," he tells her softly – and of course he knew, or he wouldn't have told her about it, would he? She wonders what other little nuggets of information he has stored in the pile marked _Regina_. "They've done a lot of work to the inside in the last year. Arthur's been in the senior home for the last six months or so – he couldn't do the stairs at the house anymore. So they've been prepping it to sell, eventually. New floors, new bathroom fixtures, open plan, all that."

Another desperate noise works its way from her throat, her heart squeezing in her chest. Regina can't even bother to be embarrassed by the way Robin chuckles at her again.

She needs to see the inside of this house.

"Think about what you want," he tells her, "And if you decide you want to move home, I'll let Annie know you're interested. She brings those boys into my shop at least once a week."

Regina can tell by the way he says it that "those boys" are a handful. Now _she's_ the one chuckling at _his_ expense, shaking her head and telling him, "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind," instead of the _Call her immediately_ that she _wants_ to say.

She needs to wait. She has to wait. She can't move home just for good sex and her dream house. (She can. She could. She might.)

"Good," he says, leaning in and pressing a smooch to her lips. "Now, why don't you go get cleaned up, and let me take you to breakfast. If we don't get moving, we'll lose that table."

 **.::.**

Regina showers quickly, but carefully – avoiding her hair at all costs, and focusing on ridding herself of sweat and… other things. She doesn't have the time or tools to fix her hair, and as much as she knows people will talk regardless, she doesn't need to feed the rumor mill by showing up with Robin so obviously freshly showered.

She hears the door squeak open and shut again while she's under the spray, but doesn't realize why until she cranks the water off and wraps herself up in a towel.

And then she realizes her attempts to be sly about having showered were for nothing.

Robin has brought her clothes into the bathroom for her, a neatly folded pile on the edge of the sink: her glittering party dress and dark tights and underwear, and nothing else. If that doesn't scream Walk of Shame, nothing does.

Regina chews her lip and resigns herself to adding even more grain to the gossip mill. She towels herself dry, scrubs the makeup from her face (it's all smudged and smeared; and she flushes with embarrassment at the thought of Robin spending the morning looking at her in such a state), and tries to think of some way she can make that dress work in the daytime, barefaced.

She wishes she'd brought her Birkin, instead of just zipping the necessities into her coat pocket for the night. If she had her bag, she'd be able to do nearly a full face of makeup – right now all she has is that nude lipstick.

Her hair is salvageable, at least. She works the tangles out carefully with her fingers, glad that she'd curled it last night because it means that today she can get away with the "messy tousled bedhead" look. She just wishes it wasn't so obvious that she got it _in bed_.

But when she goes to dress, she only makes it halfway. She slips on her thong, pulls up her tights, but when she reaches for the dress, she just… can't.

She can't.

She can't go have brunch in this dress at Granny's Diner and not feel like the entire restaurant will be sitting there staring at her and Robin and imagining all the sex they so obviously had the night before.

A knock at the door startles her from her fretting, and Regina presses the gold sequined number to her front (she doesn't know why; he's intimately acquainted with her breasts – but there's something about being _half_ naked that feels so much more vulnerable than being in her birthday suit) before she opens the door.

Robin is standing there, looking apologetic and asking if he might hop in the shower before they head out – it turns out they _both_ smell like sweat and sex.

They're pressed for time, so she takes the Dress of Shame to the bedroom to change, tossing it on the bed and scowling at it.

"Mother will be so proud," she mutters to herself. "Definitely mayor material."

She sits herself bare-breasted on the edge of the bed with a frustrated sigh and listens to the shower run. For a brief moment, she imagines Robin under the spray, that pleasantly muscled body dripping with suds…

Maybe they should just stay in, after all. She'd be able to avoid the scrutiny (and the inevitable lecture when the rumor mill passes her indiscretion along to her mother), _and_ have another blistering orgasm or two.

Her gaze slides to the clock (they're nearly late), and then to the clothes Robin had tossed on the bed before getting in the shower. His shirt from last night, and those grey slacks.

And just like that, it clicks.

The key to preserving her dignity.

She doesn't think he'll _mind_ the little invasion of his privacy, and if he does, well… She'll find a way to apologize. She has needs. He'll just have to understand.

 **.::.**

When Robin emerges from the bathroom, he finds Regina in one of his sweaters, the largest one she could find, a cozy red cable-knit that covers her ass and looks like it could actually be intentionally oversized. She's not thrilled about being braless, but at least the chunky knit hides the way the tickly wool makes her nipples harden.

He stops in the door when he sees her, an expression settling over his face that makes her heart beat faster – he looks at her like he can't quite believe she's real (she knows the feeling – he's standing there in jeans and nothing else, a hickey on his shoulder; the urge to pinch herself is acute).

And then he tells her, "I was not prepared for how stunning you look in my clothes. Warn a man somehow next time."

Regina bites her lip, shrugging her shoulders and telling him, "It was this or show up in the same dress I left in. People have been talking about me enough." She does a little turn, and asks, "It looks okay, right? Looks intentional?"

Robin reaches for her, pulling her in close, and winding his arms around her waist, his hands sliding down to squeeze her ass as he murmurs, "It looks like we'd better get out of here in the next few minutes, or I'll have to have you in this jumper, and then we'll never leave."

Regina laughs, and lets him kiss her again, but stops short of letting him wander beneath that sweater.

 **.::.**

Granny's Diner is packed – no surprise there.

Nearly every table and stool has an occupant, so it surprises Regina when Ruby leads them to a booth that could easily fit several more people instead of having them wait for one of the two-tops.

And then she gives Regina a knowing once-over and says, "That top looks better on you than him," before handing them both a menu and smirking herself away from the booth. Suddenly Regina isn't thinking so much about two-tops versus booth seating anymore.

She turns a wide gaze toward Robin, muttering, "So much for my attempt at subterfuge."

Robin smirks a little, opening his menu and focusing particularly hard on it as he admits quietly, "Granny made that sweater for me for my birthday last year. I'd have said something, but I figured Granny would be discreet and you seemed so worried about anyone knowing. And if we're being quite honest, I think that particular cat was out of the bag already, considering how we left."

It's loud enough in here to mostly mask how quietly he's speaking, but Regina still feels her cheeks heat.

"I suppose so," she sighs, taking a look at her own menu, even though she knows the whole thing back-to-front and back again. But it's a New Year, full of new possibilities, and Regina thinks this morning she might break with tradition.

"I forgot about Ruby," he admits, and she sees his hand twitch, moving an inch or two in her direction before he freezes and draws back like he's realized they're in public and maybe he shouldn't be too touchy. They've held hands in public in the last week, but somehow now that they've had sex it seems like every touch is a neon sign blinking _MORNING AFTER_.

Which wouldn't be so bad if they were dating… If this was… something. But they're not dating, she's leaving (she might stay, she could stay, there are lots of reasons she could relocate back to Storybrooke…), and then who knows what will become of this.

It seems like too soon to be moving on after Leo – the divorce is only _just_ final – but she's been moving on for months now. Years, even. She has been slowly severing the ties of her heart ever since that last Christmas in St. Barts.

So maybe the divorce is new, maybe the separation itself is nascent, but… she wants this.

It scares her how much she wants this. How much Robin has crawled into all her empty, aching places and filled them up with so much warmth and familiarity in just a few days. If she lets herself, she can imagine a life here, with him – a life where she lives in the Pepperidge house and turns that back den (if it still exists) into a home office, and does who knows what. She'd get her candy cane mochas on the first of December instead of the 23rd, and string flag pennants along her porch on the Fourth of July.

Robin would come over in the evenings, spend the night naked and glorious beside her, on top of her, inside of her.

She'd take Ophelia apple picking, teach her how to cut the peel in one single ribbon. Teach her her to choose just the right shade of lipstick, or apply eyeliner that looks subtle and classy, not too-thick and adolescent and wobbly.

She'd get more than one free breakfast this year at Granny's.

It all sounds… nice. So much nicer than going back to her empty apartment in Washington. Back to her electric blanket, and her too-cold holiday decorations, her Keurig single-cup.

"You're awfully quiet over there," Robin says softly, and Regina realizes she's been staring at the same spot on the menu (STUFFED FRENCH TOAST – STRAWBERRY OR APPLE) for who knows how long.

She clears her throat a little and says, "I'm sorry, I was just… thinking."

"Dare I ask?"

He's looking at her that way he does – inviting and open. Thoughtful. His hand is resting open on the table between them – not quite close enough to look odd, but close enough that she could reach out if she wanted. He's just that way, Robin – patient. Steady. Present.

Regina swallows thickly and decides to just lay it out there on the table between them; at least then she'll know.

"What, um," she begins. "If I did… relocate… You and I, would you want to see—"

"God, yes," he answers without even letting her finish. That nervous energy in her belly fizzles out into nothing as he admits, "I've been trying hard for the last hour not to tell you every terrible thing I can think of about life anywhere else, and every wonderful thing about living here. I know you probably need more time to feel things out, consider everything you're going through, but honestly? Right now? I'd try to make it work from here to D.C. if you'd have me; I'm utterly wrecked for you."

Regina smiles at that, closing her menu and folding her hands over it, her heart starting to race for reasons unknown (she lied about that nervous energy; it's back suddenly, and double-time). She drops her voice low, so close to a whisper that she has to lean in for him to hear her: "I think that may be the sex talking."

He grins, those dimples flashing, and then he says, "I think we've had to wait too long for a day's drive to be a hindrance."

There may be something to that, but Regina doesn't get a chance to dwell on it.

Granny always takes the first complimentary breakfast order of the year, and they've had plenty of time to peruse the menu, it seems. She sidles up to their table, pad in hand (she notices the sweater, too – Regina can see the moment she recognizes it and smirks – but unlike Ruby, she has the tact not to point it out), ready to take her order.

"Alright, what can I get ya? Fair warning – if you pull a Leroy and ask for one of everything off the brunch menu, I might just take that voucher back and refund you for the raffle tickets."

Regina smirks, and promises, "One meal at a time is plenty." And then she orders the eggs Benedict instead of her usual apple pancakes – in the spirit of new beginnings.

"Anything else?" Granny asks, jotting the order down on her pad, breathing a sigh of relief when Regina just asks for coffee and an orange juice. "Thank God for you, girl," she mutters, turning to take Robin's order.

He nudges Regina under the table with his foot, and says leadingly, "Didn't you want a side of extra bacon, too?"

Regina frowns. She doesn't really need bacon to go with her Benedict; there's meat on it already. And she hadn't _said_ anything about bacon, so she's not sure why he'd think—

His brows rise slightly, pointedly, and she realizes. Free bacon.

Regina laughs softly, and says, "Yes, yes, I did." She looks to Granny, tells her, "And a side of bacon, please," but the old woman isn't fooled.

She _hmph_ s, and scowls at Robin, and says, "I think you can afford your own bacon."

 **.::.**

They've ordered and gotten their drinks by the time Regina realizes just why they'd ended up with such prime seating.

She's doctoring her coffee with cream and sugar, her ankle pressed to Robin's beneath the table, when a perky ball of energy plops into the booth next to her, with a brace-face grin and red curls, and Regina's cashmere sweater.

Regina startles slightly at the sight of her niece, her stomach swooping as Zelena slides into the other side of the booth (Robin shifts over to make room for her, equally surprised, but adjusting quickly).

Ruby's right behind them, calling, "We're a little short on room, and I didn't figure you'd mind!" as she heads for the kitchen.

"No, why would they mind?" Zelena murmurs knowingly, and Regina meets Robin's eyes across the table.

He presses his lips together, tamping down a smirk, she thinks, reaching for his teacup to hide it. He's only just taken a sip when Ophelia asks, "How was your date last night?"

So naturally, he chokes on it, coughing hard as Regina looks to her sister and hisses a furious, "Zelena!"

Zelena just shrugs nonchalantly and says, "Answer my texts."

She'd had several when she finally pulled her phone from her coat pocket this morning, and had answered exactly zero of them. But _still_ , that's no reason for her sister to retaliate by telling Ophelia that she'd spent the night _dating_ Robin.

"What?" Ophelia shrugs, reaching tentatively for Regina's coffee; she pushes it closer to the girl, much to Zelena's chagrin. Ophelia lifts, but doesn't sip, a perfect mimicry of Cora when she's about to make a statement. And sure enough, she tips up her chin and declares, "I think it's cute. I had a date this week, _you_ had a date this week. It's fun!"

"And how is young Trevor then?" Robin asks, successfully changing the subject as Ophelia takes a tiny sip of Regina's coffee, then puts it back down.

Zelena mutters, "About to be turned into a toad by her mother – and I'll let you handle that caffeine rush, thank you very much."

But it's no use.

Robin is smart enough to know that asking a teenage girl about the boy she's enamoured with is enough to derail any current conversation entirely, and so they spend the rest of the time until Robin and Regina's food arrives hearing all about Ophelia's young romance.

Zelena looks positively miserable about the whole thing, which Regina thinks serves her right. Robin asks all sorts of questions, most of which boil down to determining if Trevor is, in fact, a stand-up young man worthy of Ophelia's time and affection.

It's sweet – and comfortable. There's no awkwardness between them; Ophelia laughs and rolls her eyes at Robin just as much as she does at her mother, at Regina. It hits Regina again just how much she misses being away, and her heart squeezes.

 **.::.**

When Granny sets the plates on the table, there's Regina's Benedict, Robin's lumberjack breakfast, and an extra plate of bacon.

Robin looks up at her with adoration and sighs, "Bless you; you are a goddess among women."

Granny lets out a doubtful, "Mmmhm," but she doesn't quite manage to suppress the smile at the corners of her lips.

She takes the rest of their orders—Green Eggs and Ham for Zelena (it's just a spinach and goat cheese omelette with a side of country ham, but Granny has a sense of whimsy) and apple butter stuffed French toast for Ophelia—and then leaves them to their pile of bacon.

Ophelia digs in immediately, grabbing the crispiest piece and munching at it, mumbling over her mouthful how Granny knows how much she likes her bacon extra-crispy. Zelena skips the bacon (Robin makes up for it by stealing three pieces for himself), and opts instead to reach over and pluck a piece of melon from Regina's plate.

Regina scowls and takes a half-hearted jab at Zelena with her fork, but all she gets for her trouble is her sister sticking her tongue out at her before popping that melon in her mouth and chewing.

"Very mature," Regina chides, and is promptly told that she, as the younger sister, doesn't get to lecture on maturity. She shares a glance and an eye roll with Ophelia, and then feels Robin's foot nudge her ankle intentionally beneath the table.

When she looks in his direction, he shifts his gaze pointedly to the nearest set of pushed-together tables, where Annie Gable, née Pepperidge, has just been seated with her four sons.

Regina's heart trips and stutters, butterflies kicking up in her middle unexpectedly.

When she looks back to Robin, he's smiling at her, his brows lifting and falling once as if to say, _What are the odds?_

 **.::.**

Somehow they finish that first plate of bacon and half of a second, along with all of their breakfasts, before they throw in the towel and admit defeat.

Regina feels stuffed to the gills by the time they ask for their checks – although to be fair, they'd all done a lot of sharing. So technically, she's had most of her own breakfast, several bites of her niece's French toast, and half a pancake off Robin's plate – no wonder she's full.

"I think you're going to have to roll me home," she tells Ophelia with a groan. "I ate too much."

Ophelia giggles and tells her, "I can't; Mom said I could only wear your sweater today if I didn't get it 'smelly, sweaty, or dirty.' Pretty sure I'd work up a sweat rolling you all the way to Grandma's."

Regina's brows rise imperially, and she straightens her spine, folding her half-balled napkin and pressing the crease cleanly as she says, "Excuse me, but I am light as a feather, even with a belly full of breakfast."

"You'd puke anyway," Zelena tells her, slumped back in her seat just like the rest of them. She rolls her head toward Robin, and says, "Regina doesn't really spin – something we learned the hard way on the teacups at the county fair when she was about Phee's age."

"Okay," Regina interrupts as Robin turns to smirk at her. "I don't think _that's_ a story we need to share right after consuming a large meal."

"Oh, I've heard it," he assures her. "Giant pickle, funnel cake, a bit too much centrifugal force – have you forgotten that I married one of the people you threw up on?"

Regina groans and drops her head forward; she had forgotten for a moment.

"You puked on Robin's wife?" Ophelia asks, incredulous.

"And about four other people, including yours truly," Zelena tells her; this conversation really has taken a turn. Next time, she'll ask _Robin_ to carry her over-stuffed self home – she's fairly certain his response would involve far less personal humiliation.

But they're here now, so Regina sighs and corrects, "Technically, I threw up on a friend of mine, who just _happened_ to marry Robin about twenty years later. And I vowed never to go on the teacups again. Or the tilt-a-whirl."

"Or that little plane ride for children; don't forget that one," Zelena taunts, and Regina balls up that napkin again and throws it at her. She gets half a strip of bacon lobbed in her direction in response, and then suddenly Granny is there, dropping their checks on the table with a barked order not to start a food fight in her damn diner.

Appropriately chastened, Regina shares a guilty glance with Ophelia, then reaches to sip down the last of her coffee. It's gone a bit tepid, she could use a refill.

When she glances across the table, she catches Robin looking at her, smiling a sort of dopey, warm smile that she can't help but answer with one of her own.

For a moment, she can't bring herself to look away, their eyes locked on each other. Regina has a sudden bone-deep feeling, a sense of rightness, of hyper-awareness. Ruby laughs somewhere near the counter, Annie Gable's youngest boy lets out a whiny yell that has something to do with pancakes, and someone else's lumberjack breakfast wafts by en route to another table. The jukebox switches songs, reconnected again after its month-long break for the sake of holiday classics. She recognizes the electronic beat immediately – Yazoo, "Only You."

Something shifts in her chest, her smile widening, and she already knows the answer when Ophelia sighs beside her and asks, "Auntie Regina, when are you coming back again? I already miss you."

She keeps her gaze on Robin even as she turns her head slightly toward her niece, and says, "I'm moving home."

His grin is instant and wide, dazzling, and that hand finally stretches across the table to grasp hers. Regina meets him halfway, turning to catch Ophelia's ecstatic, " _Really?!_ " and Zelena's far more stunned, "Really?"

She squeezes Robin's fingers and answers, "Really. I just need to go back to D.C. long enough to wrap things up there, and figure out what I'm going to do here, and then I'll be back."

The noise Ophelia lets out is almost eardrum-piercing in pitch, and Regina has to let go of Robin's hand to return the bear hug she's suddenly crushed in.

She laughs, burying her face in curls that smell suspiciously like her own shampoo, before looking up to catch Zelena's eye across the table. She's not sure what reaction she expects, but what she gets is a sly smile, and a shake of the head.

And then Robin is giving Zelena a nudge, urging, "If you'll excuse me…" He glances back at Regina. "I need to go see a woman about a house."

Regina laughs softly, pulling back from Ophelia as Zelena slips out of the booth to let Robin pass. She watches as he walks straight up to Annie Gable and bends to whisper something to her; the woman looks back at Regina and smiles, mouths, _Welcome home_ , and her heart feels like it might beat right out of her chest.

Regina Mills doesn't always enjoy being home for the holidays, but right now, in this moment, she can't think of anywhere else she'd rather be.


End file.
